Hands Spread Thin
by PrognisAldiev
Summary: In the wilderness outside the kingdoms, Grimm roam undaunted. Dust remains untapped, nature boundless, the occasional Nomads wandering. There are, however, monsters besides the blackened beasts stalking the lands after dark... the desperate tale of a most dire situation. (No heavy canon involvement, title likely to change at some point)
1. Chapter 1

**|I won't be working on this at all until RWBY: Resolve reaches the choke point (as far as it can until the next volume of RWBY begins to air), but I thought I'd share this little bit in the spirit of Halloween. Happy Spook Day...|**

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><p><strong>Prologue<strong>

The usual response to a strong odor is to recoil from it. Whether it be a laden perfume, a raw, burnt scent, or a galling stench, when that sense of smell is assaulted the reaction is to turn away –attempt to find more suitable air to breathe, escape such discomfort. Only when one is subjected to it over and over do they become accustomed to it; this can be said of all drastic sensations, like bright flashes or acquired tastes.

Growing used to something is common. Growing fond of it is not... and a fondness of this particular scent would be viewed as twisted and perverse by most anyone. The fresh tang of slaughter hung in the air, of blood and insides both freely cast across walls and floors as well as lazily gathering in the easiest places to flow after leaving the body to which it belonged. Tears were also shed in abundance, but that was merely an undertone to the lingering veil. Despite this, the steady rhythm of inhales was all that could be heard now within here, and contented ones at that. Darkness held dominance here, so when the door to the room opened, this powerful aroma was the first thing experienced by any in the doorway; this was why the two men performing this simplest of tasks were wearing handkerchiefs dampened with cold water, for lack of any better means to combat the smell.

The light that poured from beyond the threshold cut a long golden path through the shadows, the space revealed only a rusted metal floor with crimson staining every few inches. The drawn-in form of a person curled up at the end of the room could be seen, long black hair spilled out to the side into one of the many dark puddles. The men at the door moved inside a few feet, eyes trained on the lone figure, and set down a plate with food; bread, some water, and an apple, moving back to the door without turning their backs. Only from here did they speak, the leftmost raising his voice first; "There are no more for today. You're clean."

The figure inside the room limply shifted into a sitting position, revealing a frail and unclothed frame that looked fit to burst once drawing a deep breath, as if they were in a field of flowers and letting it out a satisfied sigh. One of the two men looked as if it made him want to vomit. They watched in silence, as they were supposed to, until what turned out to be a girl was up and crawling toward them at an alarming rate; they slammed the door as fast as they could muster and dropped the enormous steel bar across it. There were numerous loud thuds against the door, a few more dents added to the many already there, and just as soon the beating ceased. The one who spoke coughed once, getting his partner's attention and hardly affected by the turn of events. "Who should watch?"

"I'll do it. You go ask about the drops." The other answered. A nod from each, and they parted. The second fellow stood by the door, and after counting to thirty, slid back a strip of the door to view inside. They needed to be sure she ate.

He only had to peek inside for a moment, seeing even with this little light the silhouette of the girl within. She fit an entire apple into her mouth at once and crushed it between her jaws with a loud crunch, bits of skin and juice spraying from the fruit. She looked into his eyes with a mixture of hungry lust and primal fury... He shut the strip.

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><p>The departing member of those two men stepped down from the wagon now housing a giant metal box, moving up the series of others not quite outfitted with such extreme means of containment yet. He took to one of the frontmost in their group; this was the closest thing to a house, having eavestroughs and sealable chimneys for when the caravan needed to stay put for long periods of time. He climbed into the driver's seat and knocked on the door leading into the back, not waiting long before hearing acceptance. Inside was a well-lit area with three tables at the back wall and on either side of the room, numerous shelves of Dust and tools both scattered haphazardly and stacked neatly in various places.<p>

The occupant of this wagon stood at a menacing height of a bit over six feet, and her demeanor was imposing. It was unnatural that her size both looked dangerous and fragile at once, as she towered above him but looked so thin... She turned to face him, and he wished she hadn't, still having a hard time suppressing the flinch brought on by seeing it. She either hadn't noticed, or didn't care. "Yes?"

He swallowed before he began. "Grimm are approaching faster, more concentrated. Tonight is the best chance to drop and go..."

"This is your opinion, or his?" Her voice was so alluring that it seemed almost physically impossible for these seductive vocals to come from the source that they did.

"Do you really have to ask?" He replied in second nature, swiftly regretting that decision. There was a slit down his face now, just a sliver of a cut starting at his lower eyelid coming down to his upper lip, caused faster than his eyes could follow or even acknowledge. The cut stung fiercely, and he only pulled back and held his face a moment after finding out it was there.

The woman here still stood ramrod straight, wide white eyes still showing little interest in him. "You know not to take that tone with me."

"Yes, Schaless. It won't happen again, I swear it." The man composed himself within seconds, narrowly saving himself further punishment. The injury to his face would never stop burning for the rest of his life; he knew this from the others she'd done it to, but having just one was actually fortunate. There were others that bore dozens, and in places they hadn't even known she could reach.

She faced the back table again, sparing him the image that would haunt his sleep for the next few nights. "The two younger ones can be left behind... I expect efforts to find more stock to be doubled."

"Yes, Schaless." He nodded carefully, and backed toward the door much like he had with the last girl he'd dealt with; not taking his eyes off until he was out and free of her presence. There was a few seconds to soothe the dull ache in the right side of his face, or at least try, with the damp cloth he still had before moving to the back of the wagons now.

The two wagons bringing up the rear were fortified scarcely, as an afterthought at the time they'd done so, and he scaled the side to slide open the larger door. Inside were several cells watched over by another like him, the jailbirds inside few. Of the eight in this wagon alone, two were filled; the kids were just shy of being in their teenage years, wearing improvised clothes from bits of rags and sacks that had come close to where they had been trapped. Dark circles hung under their eyes, fearing sleep. Red were the veins above these, fearing exhaustion. Grimy and weak from prolonged containment and lack of nourishment, they both scurried to the furthest corners of their cages when the sliding door opened.

The watchman and outsider exchanged nonverbal greetings. Keeping his vision from meeting either of the boys in the cells, he spoke with the guard and ignored the gasps; "These two are to be released... I spoke with the Schaless, and she gives permission."

"You spoke with her, all right..." The watchman said amusedly, poking fun at the new mark left by the encounter. "We move on in ten. I'll get these ones out ASAP."

Nodding, he left the watchman to his own tasks, but found a hand meekly clutching his shirt. The boy left of him was tearing up, blubbering. "Thank you... so much... Tha-..."

Tugging himself free, he couldn't suppress the frown on his face. The watchman laughed aloud this time. The mobile prison was devoid of him soon, but not soon enough in his opinion, as shown in his shameful stride.

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><p>Holding the two boys by the hair, the watchman dragged them from their cells and out the back of the wagon. He moved from the group of archaic vehicles, chuckling a bit at the struggles and protests that they could walk themselves. The terror was starting to form again in the pits of their stomachs. He could tell... The trek lasted a good fifteen minutes, and two more individuals stood by a single, ten-foot post shining with lamplight at the top and halfway down. Similar lights could be seen in a perimeter spaced widely.<p>

"Finally dropping these two..." He said as he reached the light, the pair like him once again in appearance standing with four-pronged crossbows by the post. They nodded, the boys staring hopefully.

"Unbind their limbs over there; we'll do the rest." Nearly gone now, but still holding on, the glimmer in the eyes of the two boys flickered as they were forced to the edge of the light shed by the post, and promptly unbound. One smiled while the other looked at the watchman expectantly, curious as he simply walked away with a smug look. Once he was out of sight, the two by the post pointed their weapons at the children, who froze like prey.

"Run." Was all they uttered before loosing shots, the kids vanishing into the sparse forestry they had been released near. A few more bolts escaped their crossbows before they listened carefully, hearing the brush part for the frantic escapees. A tumult of distant howls suggested they had done their part, and soon they were folding up the post, removing the perimeter like the lights dying further on either side. They would go back to the caravans, the Grimm that were drawn to the victims kept with them now sufficiently distracted by the ones they'd freed. They would move on, putting a distance between they and the creatures until the beasts were attracted again.

"How much time?" One asked, slinging his crossbow over shoulder to hold the shrunken post in both hands.

"A few seconds for the bigger one. The smaller kid looked less shocked, so give him an hour or two –maybe..." A yell came to them, sounding distant as expected, but not distant enough for the sounds of gnashing teeth and disembowelment to be muted. These men had grown accustomed to the sounds, much like the other senses gone dull, and not a soul nearby was put off by the acts committed that night.

How else would they get through the next?


	2. Chapter 2

**Routine**

"All living things have aura, and that aura lets them sense your intent. You need to calm yourself... deep breaths. You're just taking what you need. Whenever you're ready..."

The deer stood unaware as his father's words softly instructed him. Deep breaths. Taking what he needed. Whenever he was ready. He shifted his hand held up at his side, feeling the weight of the knife, unable to get any more comfortable with it. Squinting, he took aim. The deer looked up, though not at the two of them; the sixth sense they'd just discussed. It was starting to feel aware of the danger now, and his muscles seized. Well after his chance had come and gone right before his eyes, he heard the crack of the gunshot right beside him, putting a bullet through the animal's eye.

"So," his father said, stepping out from their vantage point to the carcass, "What was it this time? Afraid it would catch the knife? Expecting a divine hurricane to intervene? Do you have to pee?"

"Fuck you, dad." This earned him a sour look.

Kneeling next to it, the middle-aged man hefted the heavy corpse over his shoulders, after dragging a slight ways from the brain scatter and excrement it left upon death. His mostly brown and red attire made from countless kinds of tanned hides crinkled in appearance but without noise, like a second skin. His goatee and hair were both a heavily darkened brown, so close to black it was nearly imperceptible without looking close. "This is the fourth time this month. If you have a problem with what I'm training you for, you should speak up; otherwise, we keep pushing you toward being a woodsman. Tell me what you want, Crispin."

Crispin Moccasey and his father, Medra Moccasey, began the climb back out of rough basin territory, up toward the only even path through these parts where their camp was. Crispin only looked a bit like his father at this young age of fifteen, inheriting the same hair color but in a shaggier, flatter style that clung to his head rather than the fluffy Wildman mane his dad had. His clothes were made up of more dyed linens with stitched segments and many patches, a mix of browns and dark oranges to blend in the fall. Even in spring, he preferred this wardrobe simply because he was a low-mover as Medra liked to put it; he crept up on prey, took to being out of mind with camouflage to the dirt and fallen leaves over actual cover. His shirt was a short-sleeved, low-collared one over a tighter long-sleeve, a black bandana loosely tied at his head just to keep the sweat from getting into his eyes. His pants were studded at the knees, and his shoes were made for traction.

Crispin took the lead with his father carrying the kill, sheathing one of his three hunting knives at his thigh while the other two were at the small of his back and diagonal over his chest. Catching a branch with one hand, he swung up from below and landed atop it in a crow's hunch. "I'm fine with being a woodsman. I just... It's too damn quiet."

"That's usually what you want when you're stalking your dinner." Medra said. Crispin picked some acorns dangling nearby and absently flung them at his father below one at a time, getting the man to actually start pointing his gun. Crispin smiled while dropping the obnoxious act, inching off the branch to fall in step ahead again.

"When it's quiet, it's too easy to think. I'll be getting ready to make a throw, but it's so silent that it feels like I have all the time in the world. I'll think about what could go wrong... and how I should do this to keep from screwing up, no matter what." Crispin ended his explanation. He still slouched as he gave his dad a glare. "It's nothing like those bullshit examples you brought up back there, either. You've told me about every real concern I can think of out here; Grimm, flash weather, predators, so on..."

Medra awkwardly slung the rifle over his shoulder again, having moved the deer to hang over the other and take aim until his son got the hint from a gun barrel. There had been a time where both of them had thought he wouldn't pull the trigger, but Medra had no problems leaving a graze on the boy now. They had gone over that hill once, with scars on both to prove it. "We'll just have to find some way to make you focus, then."

"That's the problem, actually. When I can hear it raining, I can zombie through all the chores and stuff without a second thought. I've been trying to figure out how to 'zone out' when we go on these food runs. So far, I got nada." Medra didn't look too keen on Crispin's self-improvement goal, but they both dropped it.

"So, uh... Vivily still making you proud, like I don't?"

A hand went to his father's face, blood from the deer along with it. No one batted an eye. "Not now, Crispin. Please."

"It's not that hard to just admit you'll only be happy with me once I kill something, you know." His father looked at him with oak-hued eyes, both angry and sad with that accusation but unable to say anything to it. Crispin shut his mouth and put more space between them both, as was custom lately.

This had been their problem for the past few years. Crispin had turned out to be gifted in many ways, but his aura refused to cooperate; Medra, who had once been a Hunter and the only one of their group with such skills, had wanted to train Crispin into being the next guardian that kept their nomadic unit safe from harm. He had fallen back on choosing someone else; Vivily Culversett, a girl who had come to join their roaming ranks at an early age, and showed promise both physically and spiritually. Crispin, who had still developed during the time Medra hoped to make him an unofficial Huntsman, began teaching him to be a woodsman instead. At some point long ago, these two terms may have meant the same thing, but now a woodsman was a person who ventured out into the wilderness to forage and hunt for food and materials while _avoiding_ Grimm, where Hunters dealt with that danger outright. Crispin would make sure they were fed, among other things –Vivily would keep them all alive, given his dad wasn't around to do it.

Breaking the tree line before a rather thick dirt trail, Crispin caught sight of their various caravans staked down for the sake of safety. The semi-circle of their vehicles contained a great deal of activity inside the curve, where there were fire pits for cooking stations and other temporary setups for work outdoors. Each and every person in the group had something to contribute, aside from the younger children; the nomads just shy of one-hundred strong were often accepted anywhere they went for their odd goods and trinkets, coming out of the blue and leaving just as soon. Vivily was strolling past, as she was supposed to circle the camp when Medra went anywhere.

"Doesn't look like your excursion went so well. Your father?" She said, a sing-song lilt to her voice that always seemed to bounce back and forth; reading her tone was really hard for sarcasm and sincerity alike. With a heavily layered getup of thick furs and bits of underlying armor such as chain mail, It was hard to appreciate any part of her physical femininity even if he wanted to... aside from her face which stunned just about everyone she met; she had these green eyes flecked with blue dots, and her features framed these startlingly pretty eyes with an image out of painted art. Short, curly locks of strawberry-blonde hair completed the look, and a set of very slender glasses seemed to magnify her key feature. At her waist was a sabre-like weapon, an heirloom of Crispin's family denied to him.

Jutting a thumb behind him, Crispin's expression dropped. "Bagged a full-grown doe, probably last you's a few nights. He'll make it up in a minute or two."

"You just left him to catch up to you in such a vulnerable state?" She hissed. He shrugged, turning toward the back end of the caravan formation and walking off without anything to say. Of course, she began to follow. "You need to start taking your work more seriously. Just because you weren't suited to this doesn't mean this job is any less important, Crispin."

"I am serious. Being a glorified errand boy is full of responsibility, you know." His own sarcasm was easy to notice, unlike hers, and she wasn't too fond of it. Vivily moved to his side, even as he tried to improve pace to keep her behind him. "Go do your rounds, or whatever. Take care of your own shit before you pester me about mine."

She gave him another dour look. "You know better than I do that we're in a safe area for the next day or two. You drew the map."

"And somehow, everyone thanks you and dad for being able to rest easy... It's not like I chart us a course away from all the teeth and claws." Crispin shooed her away, and she tried to catch the gesture in order to twist something and subdue him so he might listen. He slithered out from her grasp, and she sighed, hearing the fringe where she ran into Crispin rustle with the passage of his father.

"I'm serious, Crispin. You need to put your right foot forward sometime, sooner better than later."

He began juggling two of his knives closely followed by the last like this would convince her of his commitment, and she just stared at him with a displeased look before stomping off. She was soon within sight where his father arrived from the underbrush, and she helped him with the heavy animal before Crispin set aside the many knives, continuing on his way until he could find the very back cart. He could hear the telltale signs that his acquaintance was nearby upon poking his head in, but vision was poor. "Yo, Tatsu! I can't see you in here!"

The clinking of tools stopped, and out of the pile of assorted appliance parts in the caravan came a boy a bit older than he, sporting a set of grey overalls and a red T-shirt underneath. Grease stained his apparel as well as streaked his red hair, and he shielded his eyes from the light outside that he'd forgone for a poor substitute inside. This small lamp among other things were powered by a hand-cranked dynamo. "Hey, Crispy. How'd the trailblazing go?"

"Same as last time, really."

"Ouch." Tatsu replied. "I suppose you're here to hide out until your pop cools off?"

A smirk formed at the guess. "Would you be sticking around the guy?"

Tatsu nodded. "I see your point... here, check this out. I got that toaster to work."

"We don't even _have_ bread, Tatsu. Good job, though." They flanked the device, which he demonstrated could now generate heat. Tatsu had been orphaned young, and raised for a while by an engineer for heavy-duty equipment, like cranes and bulldozers. After the man had died, Tatsu somehow wound up in with them sooner or later, and fell to what he could find that might tick with this knowledge. Give him a big engine and he could dismantle it in moments, but portable appliances like these took him some tinkering. His help with people's car troubles in the off town they entered usually earned him his keep and then some, and this was more of a hobby to help him get by in between. For a while, he and Tatsu had joked about his last name, as the older boy had forgotten it somewhere down the line; if asked for a full introduction, he referred to himself as 'Tatsu Something'. He occasionally had moments where he thought he was starting to remember, but it had so far evaded him every time.

"I'm like, THIS close to making that model helicopter fly around."

Crispin whistled. "That'll make for some big bucks later. What do you need?"

"I just need to figure out a fix for the split gearshaft." Tatsu glanced at the toy in question, which looked to be ready in all regards.

"I can find you some sap or clay if you need glue." Crispin suggested.

Tatsu gave his head a shake. "It'll take a full replacement. Thanks anyways, Crispy." The handyman watched as his friend stood and made for the door already. "Hungry?"

"Starved."

"Enjoy your picnic, then." Crispin scaled the outside of the caravan while Tatsu opened the hatch in the ceiling, only so they could still talk. Setting down atop the vehicle, Crispin took the small bag off his back and emptied his pockets to find the berries, herbs and other edible things he'd taken from the forest during the outing. He hadn't earned a meal in the case of the deer, so he would get none out of it; his consistent failure to do this had made him nearly vegetarian by now. Sitting cross-legged on his perch, he chewed on the end of a sanguine sprout, letting the bitter taste spread. Vivily, Medra, and his stepmother would be eating mouth-watering venison that night.

As the sun set, the camp was lively as ever, and Crispin ate his meager rations while watching his 'family' scurry about. Nothing really seemed out of place, but something was nagging at the back of his conscience...


	3. Chapter 3

**Seclusion**

Hours well before first light each morning, Medra woke, getting Vivily and heading a ways from camp to train. Crispin got up around the same time ever since he came to know this, just to watch, even though he knew it would only make him more envious... he got to see a basic regimen much like the kind of practice he was given before his father gave up on him –though, she got a bit of swordplay in –but the past month or so they had been trekking farther from home; he couldn't spy on them unless he followed. The reason they distanced themselves more now was possibly because they realized what he was doing, so now he just got up to watch them go, lingering on where the two vanished from sight for a few moments longer each time he lost track.

"You've gotten thinner."

He heard from his right, the caravan Vivily had come from. Vivily's mother, Trillia, stood seeing her daughter and his father disappear as often as Crispin did; she had those same blue-specked green eyes and much longer, finer hair of a light red, falling in a curtain behind clothes that didn't fit her. She looked kind of like a highborn wearing the type of ragged outsider clothes such people would mock, and her offspring inherited most of her impressive facial features from here, though mother had less symmetry in that department and age lines were just beginning to show. Letting Vivily take to training under Medra allowed Trillia to partake in anything either of them earned, so the woman was more family to his father than Crispin was, eating the meals brought back and so on –he suspected this was an attempt to court the woman, as Crispin's own mother had passed away. This was also the reason he ignored any and all kindness thrown his way by Trillia, as he couldn't help but see the ulterior motive of sucking up to dear old dad, through his failure of a son.

She had a point though. Crispin set a hand over his stomach, feeling like it shrank even after the handful of berries eaten only minutes ago. "Does that surprise you?"

"Of course not... I think I'm the only one to notice your seat is empty at the dinner table, to be honest." It was finally time to stop staring into the distance, and acknowledge each other visually. She was giving Crispin a sad look, like she cared, as she gestured to the caravan. "I'm making the rest into stew for tonight and tomorrow. Would you like some?"

"Probably tastes like shit. I'll have to pass." His stomach didn't just growl, but let loose a groan of despair at the words, and Crispin turned to walk away in hopes of quelling the noise. Suddenly, his ear was caught in a vice grip, and he was being led back just as quickly.

Trillia opened the door to the tiny, homely caravan filled with tapestries and linens that were sewn and woven into cloth of at least a dozen colors. She sat him down less than gently, and he was ready to start yelling when she turned on him with fierce irritation. "Empty your pockets."

"What?"

"Don't 'what?' me; empty your pockets. On the table." He removed the mild variety of herbs, spices, roots, nuts, and what few berries remained to be rationed for the next few days. She picked through it with an expression he now couldn't place. Was she ever going to make up her mind? "These, these and those."

She pointed to different leaves and the berries. He gave her a head tilt. "Lapis Mint, Sprigstep and Bloomberries?"

She nodded. "Find me more of each, and anything with a lot of color pigment. You can bring me what I need for dyes in bulk, some seasoning for the stew, and I'll feed you as a thank-you. If you think it'll taste like shit, maybe we should do something about it." Crispin considered the proposal, as it was payment for service –something his dad would probably try but fail to argue with. It wasn't as if he had anything to lose...

"I'm not supposed to wander out alone."

"You do it all the time. Don't need to let that stop you now." She smiled and winked, in the way of an adult confiding in a child, and he was won over.

Sighing to keep a facade of no real commitment, he got out of the seat she forced him to take. "How long til' you need the seasoning?"

"A couple of hours. Three, tops." She shooed him on toward the door, and he waved with a lack of enthusiasm. "Don't stray too far."

"Sure thing, mo –... Trillia." He emphasized her name when he corrected himself, even though he had originally been calling her 'mom' out of sarcasm, and refrained from slamming the door behind him over his own mistake that made him angry. It didn't take him too long to calm himself, and soon the woods were beckoning, Crispin getting his knives from where he stashed them above Tatsu's caravan before answering the call.

* * *

><p>Unfolding the pressed, tanned hide of a deer from his pack, Crispin re-folded it so only a localized area –fifty meters each way –near the camp was shown on the map he'd etched into the improvised vellum. He hadn't precisely mapped the southeastern parts that were actually close at hand, so he decided to start there, stenciling in with a piece of charcoal what little he'd already seen from a distance, not ready to scratch anything permanent yet. There was a patch of whitewood between the pines, which was a type that survived out here as a delicacy for termites, which in turn made for good real estate as far as bird nests went. The majority of birds in this region laid eggs with blue-tinged shells that might be good for dyes, and eggs for breakfast sounded awesome, but he would make that a side-quest for now since there was no way to know if he could find eggs at the right stage of incubation. Ground level, the place should have had a higher concentration of Mint as opposed to Sprigstep, and Bloomberry bushes would probably be a tad farther out from his target area. There were other things to simply grab if they came into sight, though; it wasn't as if the forest was barren.<p>

He was travelling in common with the slope, as southwest was downhill and northeast was uphill, he was staying level. Already he'd stopped a few times to pick Lapis Mint as he thought he would, as well as scratch a landmark down on his map before moving far enough from camp for it not to be in eyeshot. There was an offshoot from the river that ran down from above, crossing his path but not deep enough to be of any real note, and he stopped at a stepping stone to survey either side. He'd come to the actual river in a few minutes, though, and didn't plan to cross if there was no simple way nearby.

Some of the others from camp had been through here, just a few, and hadn't stayed long before turning back; fetching water, no doubt, and he could see Vivily's shoeprints mixed in from having escorted. Still somewhat fresh, even though she couldn't have come here this morning, so it must have been late last night. Crispin moved on, choosing against checking what could have been a snake's den for roots along the way. It was when he came to a set of Evervene trees, tightly packed together, that something stood out to him. It looked like there was a spot between the trees where something had been kept out of sight, like a stash, but it was too early for any animals to be storing for winter and whatever had been stored here had been moved since.

"... huh." This looked like it was the work of a person, actually, which was unusual to say the least. The only signs of passage to and from this location seemed to be from uphill, on an angle toward the river he hadn't quite reached, and it took a moment to even pick up these signs as they were miniscule.

The trail led up through denser resistance, not coming right up next to the river but within a good dozen meters. Leading due north, Crispin slipped under a low-hanging branch and crouched to take another look, be certain he was still accurate, and found another half-impression of a foot. Sitting there for a moment, he couldn't shake the feeling he was getting. It was a lot like yesterday's; just an abstract feeling of unease. For someone to be living permanently out here was far-fetched, but not entirely out of the question. That was when he came upon a realization, and a subsequent one that made his blood run cold.

The traces he was following looked almost as if the one that left them had been trying not to, or in other words, had been trying to prevent someone like him from following –however, they were too consistent to be unnatural in that case. This trail was falsified, a curious anomaly left to lure in someone who could actually see it in the first place.

Slowly, Crispin took some weeds near at hand as if he'd been looking for these, and made to turn back. The moment he began to face the way he'd come, something whistled past his face, and he fell back when trying to instinctually back away from where danger had just been. Stepping on the side of his foot, Crispin's ankle gave out and he fell backwards, tumbling downhill for a moment until he dug his fingers into the soil and stopped. A glance up revealed three men wearing bark-colored cloaks and leathers, hoods up and crossbows pointed at him. Another bolt whizzed past his head, glancing off the top of his shoulder and drawing blood.

He didn't bother to stand at first; instead rolling with the decline until he was off the path they had trapped him with. Shoving his map into his shirt, Crispin stood hastily and knew based on the slope where he was headed, but it was off the terrain he had previously gone over. There was a pothole that took him by surprise, and after barely recovering from the near fall from that he tripped on an overturned log. Crispin cursed and flailed to keep his balance as he flew over the object, almost shattering his big toe from the impact with it. There was a momentary pause of clenching his teeth, shutting his eyes tightly against crying out, and he was back on the run.

The ones behind him were making a lot of noise now that they had lost sight of him, sacrificing stealth for speed now that he was aware. There were two more that jumped down from the canopy to his right side, one of which caught the hem of Crispin's shirt and jammed the head of his crossbow into the boy's ribs. Crispin elbowed the weapon aside as the trigger was pulled, and drawing the knife from his leg shoved the blade into the man's forearm.

The blade bounced off, as if meeting a force field. He contained his shock just long enough to take a swipe at the person's shadowed face, causing him to rear back and let go.

Crispin turned away and continued to use the downhill momentum to escape. Soon he would be getting so far from camp that it would be counterproductive to continue, but right now, he was more worried about getting shot because of leaving the denser brush. Another bolt flew by, and he accidentally stabbed a tree with the knife still in hand when the close call startled him. It was in deep, and after two tries he was forced to leave it behind.

He picked up the pace, forcing branches aside as he fled only to find the main body of the river. It had hung a turn rather than running straight, and now stood blocking his way, so he followed it downstream instead, keeping close to the tree line in case he needed to make a dive for cover. The distance he'd put between himself and his pursuers was a decent one now, but he could still hear them hard on his heels, barking something he couldn't quite understand to one another.

Suddenly, one of the cloaked ones lunged from the fringe up ahead, and Crispin was tackled at the waist. The two went down wrestling for a good hold, Crispin trying to throw him off but the man got a grip on the front strap of Crispin's knife sheath. Facing the man as they both lay prone, Crispin turned and kicked as hard as he could for the face, hearing a crunch as blood sprayed to the side of his boot. He kicked again, and again, knowing he'd broken the guy's nose the first time but he still wouldn't relinquish the strap. Finally, the last kick freed him by snapping the leather band, and he threw himself back just enough to wind up in the shallow water's edge. His assailant was diving for him with a shattered face even after this, teeth stained red and eyes wide.

Hands on his throat. The man squeezed and pushed down from standing above Crispin's chest, submerging him in the cold river by deepening his back in the mud beneath them. Struggling, lights flashed from above the water and whatever was happening there became obscured as his efforts formed ripples. Clawing at the attacker's wrists, eyes, and pushing at his face, Crispin's arms were shorter since he was only fifteen –much smaller than the one trying to kill him. Fighting his own instincts, Crispin let go of the man's hands to search out a decent sized stone in the water nearby, clutching one just large enough to be of use and swinging it into the side of his attacker's knee. It buckled, and the guy dropped lower on that side, so he punched below the belt where the man's genitals should have been. The vise eased around his throat, Crispin inhaling on impulse only to get a lungful of water.

Swatting his attacker anywhere he could with the rock, the feeble attempts bore some fruit as the individual let go with one hand just to grab Crispin's and try to pry the stone from it. Getting his face just above water, he coughed, and spat into the man's eye, getting the opportunity to reach for the knife in his shoulder holster. The attacker backed off seeing the weapon in hand, and Crispin scuttled away, still hacking up liquid. He hadn't been looking where he was going, only away from the unknown person, and wound up caught in the stream against his will. Freezing all over now, he felt the back of his neck collide with something, thrashing in the current that was swallowing him up.

A bolt missed him, plunking as it hit the water just centimeters from his arm. The unpredictable ways he was being dragged by the current and the limited visibility from the foam of surging water made him a hard target, but his head was the most vulnerable even though it was the most important to keep above the surface.

The cloaked figure stopped firing, instead watching in silence as Crispin was helplessly drawn away by the forces of nature.


	4. Chapter 4

**|Things are about to get ugly. It only goes downhill from here, and the rating has been switched to 'M'. Continue at your own discretion. - Aldiev|**

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><p><strong>Misplaced<strong>

The river's cruel course sapped away Crispin's strength even as he tumbled ever on, head only managing to break surface for a gulp of air when he was lucky enough to spin that way. He hit another rock, blacked out, and came to what must have been a few minutes later. Within moments, he felt gravity take over; a waterfall?

No, the drop ended far too soon to be an actual waterfall –just a small plunge. What was more, he hit ground this time, the water meeting a point where it slowed and failed to erode too much. The rapids were over now, and Crispin curled up on his side in the silt, quaking with cold. Panic set in as his eyes darted around, not glimpsing any sort of familiar surroundings as he hadn't strayed this far in this direction before, his teeth were chattering too loudly for him to get a thought together and he was clearly bleeding from several wounds. There were too many things that needed attention, and he couldn't so much as think of what order to put them in.

_'Calm yourself. Deep breaths. Whenever you're ready.'_

"Fuck you, dad..." Crispin mumbled despite putting the advice from this memory into action. Crawling out from under the break in the river, he found that he'd landed not only on silt, but a pile of scattered driftwood, and his foot was tangled in a string... Scratch that; fishing wire. He freed himself in a few seconds of fumbling with his unreliable fingers, clambering to the shore in search of more driftwood, this time those dried from leaving the water. Fire was what he needed now –he would go hypothermic otherwise, and his excursion with its many detours had taken up more time than he thought, making the threat of nightfall worse in this condition.

Shaking uncontrollably, he gathered up a shoddy pile of sticks and found the right kinds of fungus growing near at hand on the trees flanking the shore; moisture helped it grow, but at this time of year it died and dried out as summer came along. Perfect for catching a spark, which Crispin made by striking flint against the side of his only remaining knife. It had been fortunate that the cold had practically forced a wrought-iron grip into him; he would have dropped the thing hours ago.

The fire was traceable by the smoke of course, and he had no clue how far off his pursuers were, so he would have to make this quick. Returning to the silt bank he crashed into, the fishing wire that he'd slipped out of took a moment to gather and straighten, and most of the length was a lost cause, but he had roughly five feet to use for later. There was still a bit of daylight left as Crispin stripped, tenting each individual cloth near the flame with a stick to dry them out. He felt exposed, but couldn't do much about it in the interest of time, as wearing even a shred of the soaked fabric would impede warming his own body... Now, he sat by the fire and stoked it while adding wood, blessing the warmth it provided.

Emptying pockets again, much of his small possessions were lost, but there was enough to work with. He ate what was edible first, and the Cadenta leaves he had made a good antibiotic when crushed, which would have kept him safe from the fishing line suture if he'd needed it –fortunately, the cuts on his arm and shoulder weren't deep enough to warrant sewing. His ankle was bruised, but he didn't break or sprain it falling down the hill, and there was a nice blue imprint of hands on his neck. Besides that, road rash from so many trips and stumbles, but nothing serious. Crispin chewed on the Cadenta even though the taste stung, waiting for the cold to leave him like a spirit banished and spitting out the green paste for use on these injuries.

His skin was dry, core body temperature back up and his clothes were still a bit damp, but waiting here any longer was inviting disaster. His map had shrank from the wet-and-dry cycle it went through, but it was still somewhat readable since the scratches he'd made weren't able to just wash out, making it a still-valuable asset when he got to familiar territory. He just got his pants back on by the time he noticed a change that brought the chill right back; the crickets. They were quieter.

He couldn't tell much with the babble of the river so close, but the undertone of chirping had definitely lessened –either that, or his paranoia after nearly dying was the culprit. Straining to hear just where his possible enemy was coming from, he failed to and snuck away from the orange glow of his dying light, further downstream and near the fringe of the forest for the safest bet.

Crispin stared for as long as twenty minutes, dusk falling within that time, before catching sight of a figure; the cloak they wore suggesting it was yet another mystery man. Where was his dad? Or Vivily, even? Was there anyone out to find him that weren't looking to kill him? "Fucking Cloakie bastard. Fuck off. Go away... you can see I'm not here anymore..." He whispered, even though he really wanted to say that out loud.

The man searched around, kicking at the little tents and inspecting the fire, glancing around for footprints, blood, anything to track. Crispin had been sure not to leave any... The fire was still fresh, though. It was clear he hadn't gotten far, and without his clothes to boot. He needed a way to distract this guy, or mislead him, but first he had to be sure of how many others were near. Carefully, Crispin went around the makeshift campsite through the woods, just close enough that he could still see what the 'Cloak' was doing. He glanced between this and his own search for other possible Cloaks, finding none in a noticeable range. Either they had split up to widen the search for Crispin, or simply hadn't enough hands to send all of them after one likely-drowned adolescent. The night grew deeper.

If there were any watching from across the river, they would have made themselves known now that another fifteen minutes had passed. His current guest was still trying to get a bead on the direction Crispin went in, so he gave the man one; finding a palm-sized stone once more, he wound up and hurled it with a toss used for skipping off water, causing the rock to get some distance but make distinct noises like a misplaced set of steps. Lying prone under the bush closest, he watched as the Cloak crept along through the brush himself, trying not to alert the kid he just walked not three feet past. He was good, but not good enough.

Knife first. Practically diving for it in his haste, Crispin tucked the object into his leg sheath, getting his shoes next; in ascending order, he needed a way to fight, a way to run, his supplies, and then the warmth of damp firelight clothing. His shirt was in hand, fitting over his head when he felt arms encircle him at the belly and lift him up off the ground.

All at once, he used his arms in his sleeves to push the shirt down the rest of the way over his head, pump his legs like he were on a swing, and buck his head back to crash into his attacker's face.

Roaring in pain, the one holding him reared back from the blunt force to his face, and with the added leverage of Crispin's feet up as high as he could get them, he brought his feet back down and curled his torso forward, forcing his holder to lurch forward as well and actually let the boy touch ground.

_'What next, what next? Do something, now! C'mon!' _Crispin's arms weren't held to him, so he reached first for his knife; the Cloak beat him to it, grabbing his smaller hand holding the grip and keeping it from drawing the weapon while the man shifted into a one-armed choke hold. If he was lifted again, he wouldn't be able to fight it this time. Reaching out blindly with his other hand, Crispin flinched for a moment when he got too close to the intense heat of the still-dying fire, but then braved it to grasp one of the red-hot branches made of ember by now. It burned his hand, but he didn't need to hold it for long as he shoved it into the hem of the Cloak's boot, down to the sole, to sear the inside of his leg up to the knee.

"AAAGH! Little –son of a bitch!" As the man lifted this one foot on impulse, Crispin elbowed his ribs, and wriggled to escape. The struggle over the knife caused them both to let go of it, throwing it to the ground and clattering into the dark where he would have to search on hands and knees if he wanted to find the thing. It was good as gone for now...

The Cloak wrenched the burning wood free from his boot, a piece still at the bottom somewhere by how he cringed as he stepped, throwing it at Crispin and missing by about a foot. He drew his crossbow, shot at Crispin's leg, missed again. He could run away at this rate, but what good would that do? This guy would just keep after him, and tell the others where Crispin ran off to. Getting even farther from home would make his return even harder... He clenched his fists. "What the fuck do you guys want from me?! What is it?!"

All the man did was lunge, and Crispin dodged but not fast enough, his foot caught in one hand. Losing balance and falling, he picked up another piece of driftwood near his head, and when the Cloak pulled Crispin closer he twisted, sending a jolt of pain up from Crispin's ankle. Swinging the branch into the Cloak's hand, it shattered on contact and probably broke a few knuckles, giving Crispin his foot back to use for scrambling to the side of the cloak and jab the rest of the branch into the back of his thigh. It dropped the enemy into a kneel, and Crispin stood while drawing the fishing line from his pocket, winding a bit of each side around each of his hands.

The end of the crossbow was pointed at him again, and Crispin axe-handled it down before circling the rest of the way around the man and jumping onto his back, making sure to get the garrotte around his neck once before tightening the circle. The Cloak spluttered, trying to draw breath as Crispin planted a foot on his back and pulled, pulled, pulled until the line was cutting into his hands. The cloak tried to stand, to move to either side, but Crispin turned the struggle into a forward fall, forcing him to lie flat on his chest as he was strangled to death. In under a minute, the man stopped moving, stopped breathing.

It was another before Crispin finally let the line go slack, and wept.

* * *

><p>The crossbow was of crude make, but the parts necessary for being accurate were well cut. It was almost entirely wood, and the nine remaining bolts were only steel-tipped. The pouch and pockets of the man revealed pieces of dried meat and fruit, enough to last a day or two, Crispin devouring a meal's worth immediately. He had a hiker's length of rope and a small grappling hook that could be attached or kept separate from it, and an old, dented compass –he was scarcely equipped, but with the essentials. Crispin only searched him for these things about an hour later, wiping the tears from his face at last and realizing that somehow, no one else came to back the man up within that time.<p>

The large brown cloak he had was also very warm, and using his newly retrieved knife Crispin cut the excess length an adult would need from the bottom, tucking the fabric away. He liked the extra wear, but having it drag on the ground as he walked or fluttering loosely to get snagged or grabbed was hardly a good thing. By the look of the no-longer-Cloak's gaunt face and thoroughly destroyed nose, it was the same guy he fought upriver. The glassed-over eyes were haunting.

Crispin felt sick over killing another human being. Literally; he had tried to vomit more than once after the deed, but needed to keep what little he had eaten where it belonged. Somehow, though, this didn't stop him from kicking the corpse a couple dozen times in hate and frustration, asking, " –why, why, why, WHY?! What did I ever do to you?! What's your goddamn problem?!" He fell into tears again so soon, cradling his head in his hands as he swayed on his feet. "Where the hell is my dad...?"

Now wasn't the time for this, and within a few moments Crispin pulled himself together again. Dragging the body to the river, he pushed it in further downstream where the water deepened again, letting the corpse float away and leave no signs here for his allies to follow. Returning to the pit speckled with coals, He kicked dirt in to finish it off, and trekked out into the shadows. The Cloaks probably didn't move much at night, and all the emotional damage that took place at the little riverside would probably attract Grimm before long. He needed to get out of here, at the very least, though the trip back to the caravans would probably be longer than overnight.

He would have to find a decent hideaway and get some rest... but he doubted that even a luxury mattress would let him sleep.


	5. Chapter 5

**|One last warning, just in case. Worse concepts are handled from here. Not for the faint of heart or weak of stomach. - ****Aldiev**

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><p><strong>Discord<strong>

The world was what you made of it. Crispin hadn't learned this from his father, but during the time that he was growing accustomed to the woodsman idea, he came to that conclusion himself. Wandering nature during the day or at night yielded beautiful and interesting things, like lampflies creating a miniature light show or a fox protecting her young from a predator. The things that were edible and practical were aplenty more often than not to experienced hands. The birds, bugs, and leaves on the wind played out an improvised ambience that was soothing to the ears so long as no damn cicadas were around to _scree_ their part he wasn't ever fond of. As the seasons changed, only the variety of these things changed with it, so nature was a hard-earned friend that treated you well with enough time and devotion.

Only now was he seeing the other side of that. He hadn't made an enemy of that friend, but rather met with others who used that relationship for more nefarious purposes. Every shadow could hide a crossbow aimed at his heart. Every canopy could be a supporting perch for strangers. The birds, bugs, and leaves on the wind all held their breath in anticipation of what might happen, and the silence bore a stifling weight. Once he'd felt at home out here, a member of this member-less society. Now? His favorite club had been joined by unfriendly cutthroats, and they didn't even have a reason to give about why.

The morning sun was just dragging itself over the horizon, the sky still a pinkish-violet hue of the night giving way to heat and light. Crispin pulled himself up from the alcove between a slab of tilted stone and the dirt it was embedded in, pushing the heels of his palms into his eyes as the exhaustion caught up to him. Sleeping had actually been easy to achieve after all, but he woke up intermittently to an illusion of haunting eyes and clammy hands around his neck with a start. He checked his map, made sure that he hadn't left any impressions in the soil, and resumed his march toward the caravans.

The distance he'd gotten away from his kinsmen on foot had been minor, but including that along with how far the river must have dragged him away, it was no surprise that he had been gone for just over a day. Crispin wondered to himself if anyone was going to actually care that he'd gone missing, or even notice that had been the case. Trillia would want a word, but otherwise...

He returned from his thoughts as a jackrabbit skittered across his path, and circled him twice before stopping dead ahead of him about two feet. He looked down at the animal, watching the nose twitch and paws lift to groom the ears... The normal behaviour made him take a few steps but it took another hop back, maintaining a block on his progress as much as a tiny woodland creature could. Curiously, Crispin knelt down only to have it circle left a little, and bound off in that direction a short while before stopping to stare back at the boy.

"... Following weird shit got me into this mess. Fool me twice, shame on me." He stood, dusted off his knees, and carried on. The critter followed closely, being sure that he could see it in his peripheral vision. He attempted to ignore it until he came to a tripwire; one it was already trying to show him a way around. "Either you're actually doing this, or something really weird was in that Cloakie fucker's rations... Alright, let's go down the rabbit hole."

He finally gave in and began to take the animal's detour, which he soon realized was just coming to an incline from which you could see the caravans from... already getting that lead weight in his gut, Crispin kept low, and once cresting the small hill lay prone to blend as well as possible. What he could see of the camp... well, it wasn't what he expected.

The place was utterly deserted. Fires were still smouldering with pots now simmering above them, laundry still dripped from where they hung to dry, most of the doors on each vehicle gaped open, and not a soul could be seen besides one solitary figure standing atop the center-west most caravan; one of the Cloaks. Crispin clenched his jaw upon seeing the sentry with crossbow in hand, and after a minute or two of watching, the sentry jumped down and held up a piece of some reflective material. The light refracting from it flashed twice with precise hand movement, and four more cloaks appeared from forming a perimeter around the site. Crispin strained to hear what they said;

"The former Hunter, the river kid, and the two women are still unaccounted for. Even so, staying for much longer will get irritating, and draw the Grimm closer." 'River kid' was an easy guess, and so was former Hunter being his dad, but he didn't know which women escaped.

"True. How much longer do you think Heft will be going at it?" There was a distinct tone of discouragement in that statement, like asking when meat will inevitably spoil.

He missed a mumbled comment or two, until the tallest of the five thumbed the collar of his cloak and spoke up in his own defense. "You know I wouldn't let the man have what he wants if it weren't beneficial. Let a pig roll in the mud, and you'll hear it squeal less."

"That's a pretty accurate way to describe it, Grau." The sentry from before said, a female voice this time. He wouldn't have been able to tell through the thick clothing if not for her pitch. "You know it's bad when you pity the mud, though."

"Starting to go soft, you sounds to me." The smallest of these five, who kept a mild hunch, picked fun at the woman and hid behind the one the deemed 'Grau' when she aimed her crossbow at him. "Oh, come on –learn to take a joke!"

Grau looked over his shoulder at the smaller individual, shooing him off. "Heft can handle himself, even if the Former Hunter returns. You four can return to the line; I'm going to look for Cray. He should have come back from the river by now."

They all nodded understanding before Grau split from the others, heading the way Crispin likely would have entered if not for his furry companion, while the other four headed due north. He chose to acknowledge the rabbit, still wondering just what was up with it in the first place, and after another minute or so of waiting to see if anyone else would stand watch or come out of hiding, Crispin judged it safe to go down and investigate. The rabbit stayed close behind.

Once actually getting close enough, he could see a few telltale signs of struggle; footprints were scrambled and deep, like there had been a panic where all footfalls had become hard and hasty. Skid marks from people getting tackled, or dragged. There was a bolt in the side of one of the caravans; one Crispin attempted to recover without success. Each living space turned up empty, and most looked ravaged. It was when he was coming up on the ones further back that there were finally signs of life –there was a low, muffled groaning. Someone must have been hurt, maybe hiding after the fact.

Coming up to his father's caravan, Crispin snuck a sidelong glance in from the doorway, and physically recoiled.

The heirloom sword Vivily carried was rammed through the wall near the door, embedded in the wood. Her thick furs and layers of chain and leather were strewn about haphazardly, over the furniture and rugs he could recognize. On the handmade bed was Vivily herself, tied by wrists and ankles to each post and gagged. What had to be a bear of a man labored over her in a rhythmic motion that was unmistakable, and through the rag tied around her head the girl growled and cried in lament of what was happening.

Crispin frantically sorted through his list of options. He had to do something, he had to stop this, there was no question about it. Even from this distance, he wasn't sure if he could make a proper shot with a crossbow he'd never used before. Use the fishing line again? No, that guy was gigantic. He couldn't even keep him tied at the throat long enough with the help of another person. The one they called Heft grunted in pleasure overtop of her, leaning down to her ear to tell her with a gravelly voice; "Hang in there, cupcake. I'm getting close..."

Crispin stepped into the threshold of the room, pointed the crossbow at the back of Heft's black wiry mane, and pulled the trigger. There was a _twunk _as the string hurled a small wooden stake right into the man's skull.

And a flash of yellow as the wood splintered on contact with energy surrounding the man.

Heft was thrown forward a little from the impact even if he was largely unharmed, and Crispin stood paralyzed by sheer shock and awe. That had been nearly point-blank, and the guy wasn't even bleeding. As he recovered from the blow, he turned from where he was inserted to look at the young man that just tried to assassinate him, and the rage on his face contorted it to be even more ugly than it must have normally been.

"What the FUCK!" Heft grabbed an ornament carved from deer horn near the headboard, and hurled it to hit Crispin in the jaw so hard that he was nearly knocked out cold. Falling into the table behind him, he kept himself on his feet, finding Heft was stumbling off the bed with his pants still around his ankles. Big, ugly, and stupid. This just got a little better.

Vivily screamed and struggled from where she was to no avail, and Crispin kicked off the floor to roll onto the table and avoid Heft's mitts trying to grab at him. Kicking him in the face jarred the beast, but it was like hitting a brick wall, rather than breaking the weak nose like before it nearly punctured his boot. The last thing this giant needed was a protective layer over his body, and now Crispin had to find a way around it.

Heft got a hold of his legs and pulled, drawing in Crispin who reached out to the pans hanging from the ceiling near the window. They had a tug-of-war in which Crispin felt like he might get split in two before he managed to thread the two pans he held off their hooks, dropping onto the table with him as he got them both and clapped either side of Heft's head again. He swung at the guy's face twice more with the right and then the left, which hardly left a bruise before the cookware was literally punched and slapped out of his grasp. Having let go of his feet, Heft watched Crispin slide across the table onto the floor on the other side, and begin trying to load the crossbow with shaking fingers.

Instead of getting over or around the table, Heft pushed it so the edge collided with Crispin's hands and torso, and then turned it over against the wall to pull up his trousers and approach. With a roar of satisfaction, he snatched up Crispin's wrist in one enormous hand while he grabbed Vivily's sword with the other, wrenching the weapon free. He dragged Crispin kicking and biting to one of the dressers, planting his arm atop it and raising the boy's family blade with intent to lop the limb right off. As his arm came down, Crispin drew his knife from behind him and stabbed up toward the descending forearm, managing to get past the barrier surrounding it between his upward motion and Heft's downward; the tip dove through the flesh, rending veins and appearing out the other side of his arm.

Anger mixed with agony as the lumbering hulk clutched Crispin's wrist so hard that an audible _pop _took place as the joint broke. Letting go after this, he began to try and pull the knife out of his arm, managing to do so but throwing it by accident. Unexpectedly, Crispin reached down to pull the rug out from under Heft's feet, throwing one half over him. As he lay there, Crispin stomped on the hand still holding the sword several times, and once it was relinquished at last he lifted it up to stab at the carpet with rapist stuck inside. Three of the five downward stabs bounced off of the man's barrier, two missing entirely, and Heft grabbed Crispin by the hem of the shirt to drag him down once free of the mat between them. They rolled over, Crispin underneath the brute, and he felt fists rain down for a few moments before there was another loud grunt of pain.

Vivily had seen the knife land next to her elbow earlier, shimmying it to her mouth to hold between her teeth and against the gag in order to cut herself loose, and once up had found Heft was beating Crispin to a pulp, and ignoring the sword they had both dropped. Wasting no opportunity, she focused her strength and her aura into a drive through the back and out the chest, pulling him off the boy and throwing him to the floor hard into the crack the boards. Vivily whirled on the dead body, hacking at the privates first but everything else just as much. She screamed incoherently through the gag, which she then tore off to shout profanities blended with sobs.

Pressing as closely as he could to the wall nearest him, Crispin kept his distance from the naked girl drenched in the blood being cast off from her attacker, but he was unable to look away. The pile of mincemeat was no longer identifiable, to be sure, and he only thought it wise to move when she was still swinging but slowed down from exertion.

He stopped next to her for a moment, her face painted red with streaks down the cheeks from her tears, and she met his gaze defiantly. There was brief moment where he went to put a hand on her shoulder, perhaps embrace her, but retreated without doing anything. Instead, he gathered up her clothes, and paused by the door. "I'll be right here. Outside... Let me know when you're done."

It wasn't long before she was, if only because she was sick of looking at the result.

* * *

><p>Crispin and Vivily shared no words when she exited the caravan, only actions. He'd taken the pot of boiling water that hadn't seen use, and now that it was lukewarm, used torn sheets from the laundry as rags to wash the blood from himself. Vivily sat apart from him, each looking in the opposite direction from one another, and it took her significantly longer to be clean. It was questionable whether she considered herself such.<p>

As she got dressed, he occupied himself with his father's caravan; snapping off a table leg from the furniture inside, he wrapped another cloth around it and packed the linen with dry moss, lighting the torch with the still-red embers beneath the pot. As best he could, he lit the most flammable parts inside the abode –curtains, the rug, and so on –aflame. It spread out the openings to engulf the caravan while Vivily watched the pyre.

"He doesn't deserve a funeral." She croaked with a throat sore from screaming.

"... just burning evidence." Crispin replied, prompting her to stand. "We need to go."

She found it difficult to stay on her feet, and Crispin lent her his shoulder as they escaped their home turned hell.


	6. Chapter 6

**Arrangement**

"Shut up and wait here if you don't want to starve, got it?"

Those had been Crispin's parting words to Vivily about twenty minutes prior, and she waited impatiently for his return. Up until now, aimlessly following him through the woods this afternoon, she'd been listless and short of response. Now, alone once again, paranoia was mixing with her inner turmoil about the morning's events. What if other Cloaks –as Crispin called them –were near at hand? What if they were all the same? If she were defeated, captured, would she go through it all again? She couldn't stand the thought, and knew that if she met with another she may not muster the courage to fight back well enough to win.

The handful that wiped their camp had been skillful; enough to have a minority corner off Medra and pursue him out while the rest had cleared off the Nomads. Vivily had dealt a blow to the small one, but she had been knocked unconscious by a flurry of strikes she simply hadn't been able to match up to, and when she woke later... Shivers ran up her spine again, and she held her legs closer together.

She hadn't said anything about this yet, mainly because Crispin hadn't asked. He took them as far away as possible, doubled back every now and then to cover her tracks –his didn't need to be, but she wasn't foraying into the wilderness as much as he –and asked her small things such as; "Are you still good to walk?" or "Can you tell me if you see anything move?". No wondering where his father, or the rest of their group, had disappeared to. No asking what she may know about the Cloaks... At first it had seemed to be because he thought her to be in a delicate position, not ready to speak about what happened, but now it was actually annoying her. By now, his concern should have shifted to those he wasn't sure of.

This led to her sighing in relief, but giving an agitated look to Crispin as he re-emerged from the underbrush to her right with a bag, odd little bunny keeping to his side like it had before. The bag seemed to be made of patched fabrics with a rope net outside of it holding the thing together better, and he set it down before her. "You're lucky I know my shit... so, ever eaten a bug before?"

"What?! No! Why?!" She fired out the responses, only to watch him take some squirming insect out of his chest pocket. The legs and mandibles had been picked off...

"You haven't lived until you've munched out on Virnar Beetles. They're kinda like sweetened lettuce with more crunch." He held it out to her, and she took a step back. "Come on, I made it easy. No kicking or biting, see?"

She slapped his hand, and he caught the bug in his other. "What's _wrong _with you?! That's disgusting!"

Crispin shrugged, popping it into his mouth. He spoke with his mouth full of creepy crawlie, and she had to cover hers as she gagged at the sight and sound. "Suit yourself, then. More for me."

She had been nearly about to let him have it for trying to feed her such a thing when he took out more simple herbs, nuts, and berries. His cloak was soon laid out on the ground to accommodate the variety, and by the look of the droplets still clinging to some, he'd washed it all in the river beforehand. His fuzzball friend quickly picked out something it wanted, and she was now sure Crispin was aware of it.

"What's with the rabbit?"

"It has trap sense. Besides that, I have no clue, but he's been an asset so far."

She had had some of the deer Medra came back with the night before, some she only ate a sparse amount of the foraged goods, but she found herself hardly paying attention to taste as her thoughts returned to the issues that had been on her mind. Crispin groaned, which both snapped her out of it and made her aware of how bitter this root she was chewing was.

"You're not gonna give it up, are you?"

Vivily waited for the scrunch she had gotten in her face from the flavor to subside before responding. "What are you talking about?"

Crispin gave her open hands and a head tilt, the kind of gesture you might make when stating what should be obvious. "You're gonna go on some reckless rescue mission to get everyone back, right?"

"How did you know they were taken away?"

"There was a pretty noticeable lack of dead bodies lying around, you know." Crispin cradled his head in one hand. "Dad. Trillia. Tatsu. The others... They're all probably dead, but as soon as you get over this depression you've sunk into, you're gonna want to go on a manhunt. Put together the maybe-hostages, the Hunter's bravado, and the revenge factor, and it's obvious."

She stared at him, mouth agape, utterly aghast. "Are you completely _heartless?!_"

"I'm just looking to live. Chasing mysterious bandit-people isn't a good way to do that, and honestly, I don't see a point. We're just kids, Vivily." As she stepped closer and drew her blade, Crispin was the one to step back now, eyes wide. The rabbit bounded away, but only to a safe distance from which to watch. "The fuck are you doing?!"

Vivily set the edge of the saber against Crispin's neck, pushing him until he was backed against a tree. She trembled with rage, and she shook her head in dejection at him without breaking eye contact. "You won't even stand up for your own family?! _Really!?"_

He tried to argue, but tripped over the words, stuttering nonstop. Vivily's concerns continued to a more personal level; "I saw you at the door, Crispin. I saw you when you looked inside at... at me, and him. I saw you HESITATE!"

She let the blade dig in a little, drawing a drop of blood. Crispin had a hand on his knife in the sheath, but still wouldn't draw it in his defense. "You hesitated, like you had to _think _about whether or not you should help me. Those seconds felt like... they felt like..." She trailed off, grip tightening as did her jaw. "Precious seconds in which you could've acted, Crispin. Do you hate our people that much, hate _me_ that much? Is it because your dad gave me this sword? Is _this right here_ what you really wanted all along?!"

As she was tempted to push that extra inch and cut his throat, she noticed the ring of bruising around it now, like he'd been strangled. The swelling just starting to fade from his face, stained by tears that showed these fresh ones where to go, around where he'd been pummelled trying to save her. The blood that hadn't quite come out of his clothes at the shoulder and leg, covered up by the cloak earlier, all these things he didn't have an aura to heal up like she had. As the boy at her mercy cried, he didn't even say anything back... so she let him drop, and joined him instead.

The blade embedded partly in the ground, the two sat apart from one another, forcing down the tremors and wiping away at their faces, beginning to calm down at about the same rate. After a few moments of quietly sharing in more of the crappy picnic he'd brought back, Crispin felt he had put together what he wanted to say, finding the rabbit close enough to his side that he could pet it. "I was gonna go with you."

"Huh?" She blinked, trying to figure out where he was going with this.

"I didn't want you to go because I was scared. I'm afraid of finding everyone dead, and of getting killed for something so meaningless. I'm afraid of that happening to you. Or worse... so I was trying to say that we shouldn't go, but if you still chose to, I was going to come. Help, somehow. What else am I going to do by myself?" He hugged his knees, still by the tree. The small trickle of blood from his neck had painted the front of it now.

"I was afraid back then, too. Of what would happen if I fucked it up... he'd've broken my neck and kept on going... I could have run away, Vivily. Hell, I considered it." He laughed under his breath, but it sounded pathetic. "I don't want a sword I'm not trained with, and I don't want to knowingly search for killers... but I don't want to be alone, either."

He flinched as Vivily threw her arms up into the air, irritated. "Why the hell didn't you just lead with that, then?! You're such an asshole!" She scuttled over to him so she could smack Crispin in the head without standing up, and he accepted the hit. "Is that all you want to say?"

Looking upwards, Crispin thought a little more. "Not really."

"Good, then save it. You're going to help me track the cloaks, now."

* * *

><p>Grau stood with the sentry from before, both not bothering to search through the smoldering remains of the caravan. The small one already checked it, and concluded someone had died inside, though there was no way to tell how many or whom. If it hadn't been Heft, he would have come back to them by now... The sentry slipped off her hood, waist-length hair the color of wildflowers shaking loose around a set of equally colored eyes. Only the ears standing up from here, catlike, were a slightly lighter shade. As she spoke, glimpses of her canines showed, though the scar glowing like a brand on her forehead would attract more attention. "You don't seem very upset. Is the Schaless letting you off easy?"<p>

"Probably not," He replied, "but Heft dying off is an outcome I can agree with, even if it means some punishment is in order. He was... sloppy, even if he was one of few with proper training and aura." He approached the sputtering flames and hot coals, tapping a piece of wheel with his boot. "Actually, Saika, you can tell the men that I did it. That should put the complaints about his 'special treatment' to rest."

She grinned with glee when she heard this, eyes gleaming. "If they think Heft got done in for having first dibs on the women, then I doubt any of them will be asking for the privilege. Pretty clever."

Grau turned around to face her, his own scar from the Schaless showing from within the darkness of his hood. "You said that the surrounding area shows new marks?"

She nodded, setting a hand on her hip while the other gestured what she was saying. "Someone definitely took off from here since we left, but they forked all the points that they couldn't conceal, and I can't get a bead on their scent. They've been crushing Losset buds, probably to keep wolves out of their hair."

"River kid, then. I couldn't find Cray, but the dropoff in the river would have caught any bodies from upstream, and there'd been a fire... I'm impressed the boy survived this much." He stalked off to the north, which graced Saika with a confused look.

"Do you want me to get a grab squad together?"

Grau swiped a hand through the air, as if to physically bat aside the question. "Of course not. If I did, I would have said so..."

She crossed her arms now, unsure of whether to continue. "So... we're letting the kid go? Won't the Schaless be even angrier about that? Loss of potential subject."

"If it even is the boy, he's proven good enough to keep hidden, and deal with one or more of ours. It's going to rain soon, making it even harder to find a person out here, and the Grimm aren't going to sit idle. If we do find him, it will be when and if he comes after us, looking to free his kinsmen. If not, then he chose to run away, which wouldn't be surprising. We shouldn't risk the few dozen we took in, trying to find any from the handful that escaped." She nodded, and Grau spun around again, looking at the burnt caravan again. It was so unexpected that she nearly ran into him. "... do you think he suffered?"

Saika shrugged, but frowned. "I sure as hell hope so."

"So do I." Grau said, resuming his march.


	7. Chapter 7

**Providence**

Vivily was panting, and her feet were more than just sore. Still, losing sight of Crispin for the third time, she had to step up her pace and accept some scrapes from her surroundings in order to catch up. He was so focused on following the traces of the Cloaks that he'd gone utterly silent, and while she was annoyed with how hard it was to follow quickly enough, she was also fascinated. As she caught glimpses of him navigating ahead, the only thing that came to mind was a Grimm.

When something like a wolf –or even the rabbit sticking by Crispin right now –moved throughout its natural habitat, it looked natural itself. It belonged there, it knew all the best ways to get around there, it was physiologically adapted to that environment. Grimm weren't natural beings, but mimicked this type of movement, this belongingness, this adaptation enough to just as effectively thrive and hunt. The difference was that you could see this subtle failure to actually _be _natural, and only act the part incredibly well. Crispin was exactly the same in this regard, appearing foreign but familiar to the landscape. Fortunately, he reminded her in no other way, lacking the piercing fangs and deadly claws that more prevalently personify such creatures.

The trees had grown just a bit more sparsely in this neck of the woods, still adequate cover but sight range was greater from a given point by a dozen-foot average. Light, on the other hand, tried to deny them this change as the clouds hung like a heavy grey ceiling, blocking out the sun. According to Crispin, they had a matter of hours before they got a drizzle, which would become a deluge within another half of one and cleanse the forest of any pursuable trail. The haste he was showing knowing this stopped altogether at a tree that had fallen forward and gotten caught on an angle in the branches of brothers.

"Did you lose them?" Vivily tossed the words out in her last breath before halting by the kneeling boy, resting with her forearm against one of the trees still intact. Crispin was quiet still.

As he stood up, he swept dirt off his knee. "We have a split path. I can tell the Cloaks went this way;" He pointed right ahead of where he'd been facing beforehand. He then changed the direction to his left, where tall, single-stemmed plants with broad leaves started to grow in, tightly packed. "–but somebody veered off that way, stumbled first. They crawled through between the stems, bending them a little without making the leaves on top move as much –I wanna say it was one of those two women the Cloaks said dipped on them. Nobody else would have a reason to keep low after they fell."

Having caught her breath during the explanation, Vivily moved toward the underbrush but Crispin stopped her. "If we take a detour, we might not get back on track before it rains. We don't know how far they got, who they are, or if they ran into any Grimm. You want to take that chance?"

"We need to know for sure." Vivily was less sure of that statement than her voice suggested, but he wasn't prepared to argue. As they passed through the thicket of these odd plants, she found that they felt rather rubbery, almost fake, though the occasional broken stem or torn leaf bled very sticky sap that was real enough. After getting some of the white fluid on her hand, she found herself disgusted, and tried not to think about why.

Crispin's head –all she could see of him over the plants ahead –dipped out of sight as well now, and this time as she pressed after him she found he'd hopped off a small ravine, hanging with one hand firmly locked to the ledge at her feet. It was about another fifteen feet to the bottom of the ravine, making a drop from hanging off the ledge like this a safer bet. It was here, where the mud was thick, that she too could see both foot and hand prints from a landing before theirs and trek westward. They followed these signs, and much to her own surprise she saw practically nothing left behind by Crispin. Their animal companion groomed its ears, standing atop the ravine, choosing to await their return –if it was still fixated on them at all.

The ravine widened and grew consistent with the ground enough to form a sunken grove at a point, where the grass was slightly tall and the trees were young. Mushrooms and moss tried to choke out these fighters, and among them was the person they had been tracking, unconscious it seemed.

He stopped at the mouth of the grove as Vivily drew closer first, but he came closer as she waved him in... and neither of them could recognize her.

"This is weird." Crispin said.

"You can say that again... maybe she was just someone we didn't see much of back home?" Vivily wondered, but knew it was a long shot. Her hair was long and deep blue, tied into a high-set ponytail that was notched in a pattern down to the bottom. She had opalescent skin, thin lips, but despite her eyes being closed they seemed a bit large in contrast. IF such a person had existed among them, she would have been noticed once or twice. Being the socialite between she and Crispin, Vivily would have at least met the girl when she'd been accepted alongside her mother into the caravans.

Gently pushing her aside, the boy looked down at their mysterious discovery, grabbing her feet. Vivily gave him a look as he lifted the hems of her beige pantlegs, as well as checking her bare arms and the blue strapped top she was wearing. There were scratches on one shoulder, both ankles in several places, and one on the hip. "I was talking about how she's sick."

"She's certainly pale... it kinda just looks like she's sleeping though." Vivily commented. Crispin took her hand, and put it on the girl's shoulder where it was hurt. "... um, what are you doing?"

"I need you to focus. Since dad's not around, you're gonna have to treat her." Crispin stood, removing his own cloak and getting out some cadenta leaves with a grimace. "She's been feather-dusted."

Vivily's expression became incredulous at that, so Crispin elaborated; "It's commonly seen in dust miners. When someone hurts themselves on crystals, or inhales dust without realizing, depending on the type it can screw with your aura. That's why she's... you know... _glowing_."

Upon looking this close, a faint pulsation was coming from the girl's skin; Vivily had thought she'd imagined it at first. "Since you have a healthy aura right now, you can calm hers down... 'Feather-dusted' is the term because it's something that people rarely notice before it becomes a problem. The cause is subtle, and it's a double entendre."

"And how do you know all these fun facts?" She questioned. He pointed down to her hand, telling her to keep her focus, but knowing her curiosity wouldn't let her he responded.

"My dad wanted me to collect anything that would benefit the caravan, including Dust. He didn't expect me to find any really, but since we're out here in no man's land, it's not impossible. So he told me the dangers involved." Crispin chewed on the leaves, watching the two women try to work things out.

Vivily focused as she'd been told to, and after a few moments the soft green of her soul had in some way resonated with the white of this person's, helping her get over the symptoms she was suffering. With that, they broke contact as Vivily caught herself in a wave of vertigo.

The moment the enigma woke, she screamed, and kicked Vivily in the face.

Crispin was standing by the exit to the grove, roaring with laughter as Vivily lay there, grunting and swearing while she got her bearings. He only stopped finding things funny when their patient rushed toward the only exit; the whole reason Crispin was standing here, and had taken his cloak off before. "That was fantastic, but you gotta stop and think for a sec. You'd be tied up or some shit right now if we were one of 'them'."

She had taken a swing at Crispin partway through the statement, only heeding his words after he maintained a peaceful hands-up position. She was won over completely once he actually moved for her to leave if she so chose, once she had let her panic subside. The girl looked over at Vivily, who was now standing and cracking her knuckles menacingly.

"That was a hell of a thank-you, crazy bitch."

"Watch your mouth."

Vivily eyed him with sheer disbelief. "Don't even make a joke out of that."

Whoever their third here was, her suspicion of them was lessening now, and though she was tense she didn't look ready to flee anymore. "Where are 'they'?"

Crispin pointed a thumb northwest. " 'bout twenty to thirty kilometres that way. We're chasing them, because that's the smartest thing to do at a time like this."

"Because they destroyed our home, and took our families, and they need to pay." Vivily reiterated over Crispin's sarcasm, making their new friend realize.

"You were the latest crop... oh, I'm so sorry."

Crispin squinted. "Crop...? so they _harvest people?_" Vivily was visibly offended by the thought, more so when the girl's nod affirmed it as true.

"I was in the last set they took... most are put to work like slaves, or kept as prisoners until they're needed. I was... well, I'm not sure what I was needed for, but it wasn't any of the things the other girls were _used _for." Crispin glanced at his current partner, seeing the envy flash over her momentarily. "I was blindfolded, and for the last god-knows-how-long I was either asleep or in pain. Then I fell somewhere, crawled around, and ended up here."

Crispin crossed his arms over his chest, leaning against the grassy wall of the ravine's opening. "That's awfully lucky... so uh, you met Vivily. I'm Crispin."

"Ena's the name. Nice to meet you both." Ena gave a minor smile, more formality than anything, and Vivily went to say more but thunder boomed from overhead. Reminded that the rain was almost upon them, she looked over at Crispin, noticing how annoyed he was by the fact.

"You were distracting me!"

Crispin shrugged. "And I'd do it again. Probably too late by now, since we're still a ways off we won't get there before the rain wipes their tracks clean. Best to turn back, I say..."

Ena gave him a puzzled look. "If you found me, you should have figured out by now that they'll be easy enough to follow. They have caravans too, heavy ones, leaving deep ruts that won't just get washed away in one night."

Vivily gaped as Crispin grew even more annoyed, showing he'd known this as well and tried to keep it from her. "Gee, thanks! Now that I'm out of excuses, let's go hunt us some crazed and torturous abductors!"

"You two can do that all you like. I'm not getting any closer than I have to, now that I've lost them." Ena sat back down, right where they'd found her, and she found Crispin following suit.

Vivily grabbed him by the back of the shirt, and he clung to the ground. "You're not staying here."

"And you're just gonna leave her here alone? Some Huntress." He spat. Vivily dropped him.

"I... I can't deny that." She turned her attention to the other female. "Is there no way you'll reconsider?"

Ena didn't speak at first, instead fixing a scrutinous gaze on Vivily. "He said you're a huntress."

"In-training." Crispin corrected, earning a kick to the knee. Despite his interruption, the fact seemed to have swayed Ena that easily, getting her to stand and put her boots back on. "Are you for _fucking serious_?"

"Watch your mouth." Vivily chided with no small amount of spite.

Ena set her hands on her hips, gaining a bit of a tilt. "You make a valid point; I don't want to be stuck out here alone. She can provide better protection than someone like you, even if she were just some normal person, let alone a Huntress. We get too close for comfort when we find these abductors, and I'll just turn back." Crispin winced at the verbal stab, and with a defeated sigh he got to his feet.

"Well, that's all the tricks up my sleeve then. Here, smear this on those cuts." Crispin spat the cadenta out, holding the green mush out for the girl to take, and she wrinkled her nose at the idea. "It's an antibiotic, activated by the bacteria in saliva. Saved my ass more than once."

Vivily was the first to leave the ravine while Ena couldn't bring herself to touch the paste, and Crispin was forced to apply it to one on her back anyway so he did the rest as well. She thanked him with obvious reluctance, and the three carried on in pursuit of the cloaks until it began to pour.

Under cover of trees and a cliff face, they were safe from the weather, but the trio were at risk of their targets backtracking, Grimm catching up, local predators, and even their own mistrust...


	8. Chapter 8

**Misleading**

Ena wished her options weren't quite so limited.

The two that had stumbled across her sick and weary frame had been a stroke of fortune seeing as she would have died otherwise, but having to either risk getting lost and dying in this isolation or risk getting caught by the people she'd just fled were her only two choices now that Vivily was so determined to catch up to them. She agreed with Crispin to an extent, not with quite as open a fear but it still lingered after the torture she had endured –just as well, though, she could also sympathize with Vivily's reckless pursuit having been in the same position. This had led to a very slight and non-opinionated resentment of the Huntress for not considering Crispin's side of the debate, and a near-pity for Crispin whom was not just being dragged along but shoved ahead; on the other hand, their inherent personalities were swapped on such a scale, so this all rounded out to a confused neutrality. She didn't know either of them well enough for these judgements to be concrete, however, so kept the first impressions to herself, and with the two not speaking of much other than their current goal Ena was practically ignored for how quiet she was being. She felt much like she was travelling alongside the rabbit following these two, rather than their actual companion.

That was until the morning came after the rain. Knowing too little about them both was one thing, but unfairness breeds enmity, and that was precisely the situation between the three already.

"You have a sword. Crispin has a knife _and _that crossbow; he could at least arm me with one of the two." Three people, three weapons. Innocent enough of a request –or was it?

"No chance in hell." Crispin muttered without hesitation. "I just met you, and my back is the only target better than my front right now."

Vivily was the first to comment; "You were ready to sit alone with her and let me run off yesterday. What gives?"

"Much as I like the third set of hands, we don't know her at all. Everything she told us is something a victim would know –just as much as one of the Cloaks would know. Right now, I prefer one possible killer over dozens guaranteed, but still not giving her a weapon. That'd be stupid." He made a point to finish with a touch of talking down to her, as if this were hardly something to even talk about.

Ena looked displeased, which was an easy concept to grasp. "You guys saved my life! You really think I'd turn around and backstab you after that?!"

"Why not? Your gratitude has been fucking radiant."

Ena dove for his waist and drew the knife from his thigh holster, causing him to prod her head with the end of the crossbow. She brandished the blade shakily. "How am I supposed to know you're not one of the cloaks? Maybe they sent you back for me! You're _wearing _their shit, after all!"

Vivily pried the two apart, leaving the knife in Ena's hands. "Nobody here is a Cloak... and if either of you still have your doubts, you're welcome to turn back, after all." Making a swift one-eighty, Vivily walked off into the forest sternly, her mightier-than-thou attitude tarnished by the fact that she was going the wrong way. It was enough to make Crispin sigh, and give Ena a shake of the head before catching up and correcting the Huntress' path. Ena stared down at the blade in her hands, letting the tension ease out of her muscles before plodding on after the two.

Crispin made absolutely sure that Vivily was between himself and Ena now that they weren't taking his knife back from her, and yet even from this distance she could see the way he forged on as the lead of their trio, all that fear he'd been admitting to seemingly gone. It was more like he had it tucked away for when it was truly needed; he would shoot something before he had to be afraid of it, and if that didn't work, he would allow the terror to take hold. It was the closest thing to an efficient coward.

The Grimm took a crossbow bolt to the spine, and upon turning to look at the attacker Crispin ducked back behind Vivily and pushed her forward a little. She locked eyes with the beast before she even knew it was there, some several meters ahead.

The lone Beowolf snarled and snapped its jaws, and Vivily drew her blade to a careful stance. It shifted its gaze to the one who shot it, now reloading the crossbow that had slung a bolt into its hide, and roared as it lunged for the boy. Vivily slashed at it, lopping off an arm that hindered it but didn't stop it outright, and as it got close enough to startle Crispin into falling backwards Ena jumped forward to stab it in the neck. She withdrew fast enough to avoid the claws of its still-attached left arm, and Vivily finished the beast with a stab from behind.

Ena leered down at the Beowolf corpse, dissipating as quickly as it had come. "Did that prove anything to you?"

"It proved that our 'Protection' isn't very good at protecting..." Crispin grumbled, Vivily putting hands on her hips.

"It's not like they train Hunters because killing Grimm is easy!"

He waved her off languidly, fed up with arguing as it had been all they did today. "That thing was probably running solo because the cloaks picked off the others that got so close... which means we're getting close ourselves. So _stay sharp_. Not _blunt like a goddamn knob._" Crispin and Vivily both appeared ready to gut each other, even as they broke sight and moved forward. The rabbit that seemed infatuated with them was close behind, now that the danger had passed.

Ena caught up, still behind the other girl and holding her hands out as if to catch the gifts he ought to be raining over her. "I see your gratitude is fucking radiant, Crispin."

"Thank you for stealing my knife, and sticking a monster that would have killed you next. That was noble as hell." Two pairs of metaphorical daggers were carving marks on his back as if to guide his real one, and Vivily spoke up again.

"This whole 'teamwork' thing needs you to not be an asshole. Do you mind?" He didn't answer, only made some movements with one hand and kept the other close to his freshly reloaded weapon. It was like a switch that turned off their bickering, the girls coming closer tentatively as he stopped just ahead. He was peeking through foliage, and just as quickly turned back and made a human plough with his arms, urging them back the way they'd come.

"Voices down, we're back-tracking a little bit before we run right into a trap."

Vivily blinked, only now cooperating with him. "I didn't think we were that close _quite _yet..."

Crispin dropped the enforcement of his decision, aiming his crossbow at Ena and coercing her around his known ally to take the lead on their new path left. "We aren't. I haven't seen any trap yet, but there's gotta be one coming up. It's been way too quiet..."

This time around, Ena didn't bat an eye at Crispin's paranoia as she was herded at gunpoint around the boy's huntress of a shield. As they made a tight curve of the change in route, she leaned to the side in order to speak past this shield to the front of the line; "Why are we making such a small –!"

Vivily shoved her aside, slicing through a crossbow bolt mid-flight like this were an action movie. Another zoned in on her head, which she avoided, and the third grazed Crispin's chest as she tugged his cloak and kept the shot from landing. All three would-be assailants revealed themselves after this simultaneous attempt was thwarted at all sides, dropping their crossbows and moving in with knives drawn. Crispin shot the one to his left after regaining his footing, driving the stake into the man's stomach dead-center.

Vivily turned to the Cloak now trying at her throat, deflecting the blade three times before making a flash of silver detach the attacker's hand. He screamed for less than a second when the sword went up through the soft flesh of his lower jaw and out the top of his head with a _shluck_ in and out. She rounded on the third, who'd had an ample opportunity to kill Ena as the girl stood frozen in shock, but the knife hovered over her heart. He grimaced, decked her into the huntress, and made for the treeline as Crispin fired the bolt he'd just loaded. Splinters burst from the trunk the man passed behind, and the sounds of leaves shaking grew softer as he made tracks.

They were up two corpses, and if Crispin had his way, they would be up another; he snagged his knife right back out of Ena's hand and lifted her chin with the tip. "First off, I guess I owe you an apology, Vivily... Second, though, why in the fuck did that guy just spare your ass?" The second was posed to Ena, who'd snapped out of her trance when she was disarmed and threatened.

"Crispin, put the knife down." Vivily spoke softly, as the look on her companion's face was less disturbingly calm. He flipped her the bird with his other hand, not sparing her word or glance if it left Ena open to try anything.

Ena had no answer for his question, so settled with backing up. Each step she took back was one forward, and the longer she stalled the longer his strides became. He might have been very well near committing his next murder if he didn't get kicked in the ankle; he made a choked cry of surprise and let Ena off the hook as he kneeled to check himself, finding a woodland critter that he'd forgotten by this point –much like they had –standing back up after stopping him just now.

Wordlessly, they watched the thing hop back toward the man Crispin shot in the stomach, touch it with one paw, and flop lifeless to the ground just as the dead man drew breath.

Rather than try pointing it at Ena again, the first thing Crispin did was chuck his knife into the corpse with a sound like hitting a dart board. When it continued to rise, he began loading his crossbow again, and Vivily's hand was on her sword.

"Three little victims without a clue between? Cut me like animals if you please, but a word would be wise for you to heed. My journey in our friend here has left me anything but hare-brained." The zombie before them nudged the body it had just transferred from, according to him, as he referred to it. He garnered no response as they were too stunned to say anything. "I'll take that as a yes, with humble appreciation. It wouldn't do to have strings flinging things while I spin a tale, so we'd best go off the beaten path and find some seats to fill."

Crispin leveled his crossbow at the thing's head, drawing its attention. "You seem chilled, standing so still. Not thrilled? My brain truly needn't be spilled. Put that away, will you? Look, I'll even fill in up front." The dead walked the earth, headed now back the way they'd come yet again. "We're wasting words, my friends. Life is time best spent, not lost on loitering listlessly."

Sharing a look, It was oddly Crispin who decided to follow through with this absurd development first. They fell in step behind one of two people they'd just slain, and the silence was oppressive, even as Ena laughed to herself over the sight.


	9. Chapter 9

**Acquisition**

Crispin was now following a man with no pulse, with organs that had failed him and yet his feet took one step after the next. This didn't really bother Crispin as much as the precision of the act; the undead fellow leading them on was dancing with more accuracy than he thought he could manage himself given he tried, and he wasn't even suffering from rigor mortis. It was both disturbing and annoying.

"Ah, Ah, Ah! Here we are, here we are! Hunker down and open your ears –let me tell you what you want to hear. You're lucky, yes you are, rarely do any live past due. Every second is more precious than the last; time flies fast and wastes faster." He pointed each of them to something uncomfortable but bearable to sit on. Crispin took the rock, while the overturned tree trunk was occupied by the girls. The man they'd put down only to rise again took the rotting stump of which the log the girls sat on had snapped off of.

Vivily shuffled back a bit further on the seat, invading Ena's space just to stay further from the talking corpse. "Care to start with why shooting you saw you resurrected as a poet?"

"It was the rabbit, obviously." Ena said, caught between the idea of pushing Vivily away or choosing to keep her close as possible. "Soon as it touched him, it's like whatever was inside it switched over into this guy."

Crispin made a face like he accepted that wholeheartedly. "Seeing as I shot a fat asshole in the head point-blank without leaving a mark two days out, I can believe there are whacky voodoo wordplay bunny body-snatchers. Fuck it, when do we get abducted by the aliens? Have they polished the probes already?" The sarcasm wasn't well accepted by any but the deceased.

"Ah, the joys of imagination. Animals have a hard time re-enacting it with their little brains... You can think and think and think, but you can't pervert nature from under its rules. Not just bending prison bars, but making them squiggle –pointless and painful. Hard enough staying relevant to human values when all you want is to dig up veggies." His expression went from entertained to a seriousness they had yet to see. "You three are in worse trouble than you even realize, but also have an incredible chance to take for a spin amid the chaos."

Ena looked strained as she listened on. "You've been such a help so far, really. What the hell are you? Who are you? Start talking sense."

"I am because I was, but you could say I'm not." After this most elusive of sentences, the zombie pondered her question still, seeing her dissatisfaction only grow. "If we were to recant the was and stick it to the now, you could call me Dosco. Dosco Kaleipe, at your service."

Crispin gingerly reached out, and with a grimace took his knife back out of Dosco. There was just a blank stare shared between them until Crispin wiped the blood off on the man's clothes. "So... since you don't want to explain the whole possession bit, want to tell us what you brought us out here for?"

"That's a good boy. Time wastes faster..." Dosco placated. "You are at the mercy of people with none. Soldiers gone AWOL, mercenaries on the wrong side of the law, and most importantly, Hunters who forfeit their vows. Pillage, plunder, rape and kill, they've done it all with a smile and a wave. Yesterday's dissent is today's delight, with just one fear tying them together; the Schaless. She started this little parade of nightmares to fuel her own personal one." Crispin looked at Vivily, considering what she might be like later in life. Would she drop her vows too? She had every reason.

Dosco snapped fingers in front of Crispin to get his attention back. "The Schaless wanted vessels for her curiosities, but these were declared inhumane. So she left, and collected the sinful to obtain the wandering. They can indulge in wrongdoing so long as they save a few for her to poke and prod, and in exchange she keeps society from looking too closely. You see? A sick and twisted symbiosis. Cut off the cockroach's head, and the body fails to conduct itself –it may still live, but you need to see the boot coming to evade being crushed. This is where you come in, to break the status quo..."

"Oh dear god! You want us to sneak in and assassinate some psycho Cloakie queen! Hold the rescues, this zombie needs us to go full Wilkes Boothe on this bitch!" Crispin's hysteria at the very thought of adding an even more dangerous objective to their already treacherous pursuit was plain in his voice, even as he joked away.

Vivily showed no more enthusiasm than Crispin, but with a solid disposition. "I'm prepared to kill a number of the Cloaks, but we can't finish them all. Even if we could make it to this 'Schaless' and take her out, that'll leave us open to the rest of the bastards... I just want to get my people and leave."

"Even if you took back the victims, they are no less dead than they were five minutes ago, but as seeing is believing I shall digress; taking a walk around the proverbial block will get you shot, my dear. Even if you slay a few, the rest aren't going to hand your people out for a please and thank you! I'd hoped I spelled out the clue." She gave him a squint and pushed an inch out of her sheath, making him hold his hands up in mock fear.

"As I said, it's the _fear_ of the Schaless that holds them together. She may be all that stands between them and the hammer of justice... but she is a right magnificent cunt that would just as quickly screw around with _their _anatomy. With the looming presence of her non-discriminate torture gone, the rest will squabble over the illusion of her throne. Just the kind of distraction this little faction could put into action for a great getaway, I say –and I breathed new life into these lungs just to say them. Perhaps that adds some honest weight?"

Ena shook her head, standing with fists balled at her sides. "This isn't supposed to be a goddamn offensive! You think a barely-decent Huntress and a quaking leaf of a Woodsman can dupe a whole band of professionals? Really? Fuck you and fuck your pro-tips!"

Dosco leaned back from her slightly during the outburst though there was easily a distance between them that could be deemed safe. His glassy eyes shifted between Crispin and Vivily now; "You should conveniently overlook what this one says, by the by. Sooner or later she's going to either hurt you, or give you one hell of a show, and none of her opinions will have mattered."

"You want to conveniently overlook a knife in your face?" Ena brandished her borrowed blade, at which point Vivily stood to ease the girl back. Crispin had become calm by now, looking like he may actually be considering the dead man's proposal.

"I think I can guess, but... what's your stake in this? Why do you want us to kill this broad?"

Dosco leaned forward. "That insufferable woman made me like this... I miss feeling warmth. Pain, passion and pride... I'd have liked to be left with nothing over this longing for inklings of something hardly ever thought of. I can't even appreciate my vengeful grudge being seen through if you succeed, but I can at least know that it has been. Some sort of peace from that would be nice, though I don't cross my fingers." Crispin looked as if he took enough from the statement to deem his assumption correct.

Vivily drew herself slowly out of her own thoughts, even as she and Ena had stepped back to sit down once more. "I don't quite accept it just yet, but you have m word that I'll take an opportunity if I see one."

Dosco smiled, mouth stained with blood starting to curdle. "Thanks for that. Oh, and good luck with the breakout."

Just as Ena intended to ask what he meant, a steel-tipped stake whizzed out from the trees behind them and slammed into Dosco's new head, dead between the eyes. Three Cloaks were on either side of the glade, crossbows surrounding Crispin, Ena and Vivily before their reanimated ally had even slumped to the ground without its second life. Crispin made a dash for a gap between two of them, but was given a swift kick to the chin that flipped him onto his back when he ducked to try and slip by.

Vivily was grabbed first, with weapons jammed against her back and chest preventing her from drawing her sword while a smaller individual tied her hands together, soon followed by her feet. She struggled and cursed the whole way, even spitting on the man, as she seemed to recognize him from the initial camp raid. Crispin was pushed into the ground and tied at the wrists as well, and Ena was merely shoved back a fair distance. The one pushing her stepped back after the act, her hood falling away to reveal amber locks and Faunus ears but her voice matching the lookout Crispin had spied on before;

"What are the chances they found this one? Seriously, she should be in pieces by now." The little one that directed two men to carry Vivily off also had one other escort them, leaving the other three to deal with Crispin.

"The Huntress must have treated her for auric imbalance... Nothing more than a temporary fix. What I'm worried about is our boy here," He said, looming over the dead-again body Dosco had commandeered. "I've seen my fair share of possessions, but it rarely takes a human host. What do you think it said to these kids?"

"Dunno. Won't matter much when we have 'em locked up and used thoroughly..." Ena backed up against a tree, holding Crispin's knife, and after a time the Lookout laughed. "There's no need to waste a shot here –let's take these two for a hike."

Ena slid down to her knees as her legs gave out on her, shaking with fright and relief as she was left behind. She flinched as the Lookout returned to her for the sole purpose of wrenching the knife from Ena's hands, but couldn't bring herself to do anything about it as she was abandoned in the grove. Crispin watched her get smaller and smaller until she was covered by obstacles they passed, and it was seconds later that he was grabbed roughly by the back of the neck.

"You... you're the river kid, aren't you?" The blonde Faunus woman flashed a smile with sharp canines, and he only glowered at her.

The small one looked over to her, a soft chuckle coming from the dark recesses of his hood. "Found another favorite, Saika? Make sure to ask Grau this time. You don't want to be punished again."

"Care to join the collection, Liat?"

The small man faltered as he walked upon hearing the suggestion. "No need... I think I'll just keep to myself when we get back."

"That's a good midget." She cooed, tracing a nail over Crispin's face as her attention returned to him. "You and I are going to get acquainted. Doesn't that sound lovely?"


	10. Chapter 10

**Unsightly**

Once getting in eyeshot of the linked line of caravans belonging to the Cloaks, Crispin and Vivily were separated fast. He paid as close attention as possible when those carrying her knocked on the side of the sliding side-hatch of a door, third caravan up from the back. They passed her off to the man there like cargo, who nearly dropped her when she bit him and instead chucked her into the side of a cage before actually opening it and kicking her the rest of the way inside. Crispin wouldn't know exactly how that went, because he was shoved ahead before he could see how that whole tangle ended.

The one called Liat held up one hand, springing in his step for a second with the motion. "I'll handle the report, if you want to get that little one strung up." Crispin liked the sound of that about as much as he liked the sound of nails on a chalkboard.

"Oh, so considerate, aren't you? I'll take you up on that." Saika said, dismissing the more nondescript cloaks keeping Crispin in line to grab him by the hair herself. Her grip and pull were both stronger than her frame suggested, and soon he was being dragged on the most uncomfortable trip through enemy territory. He counted eleven wagons in total, the front two and last in the back with heavy motor capability preventing the need of domesticated help. They were in an incline so slight it was hardly noticeable, the back wheels of each individual vehicle fixed with crude external brakes to keep them from drifting back down the slope. Each varied in size, though not by a great deal, and Saika stopped just before the single-port door to one of the smallest. "So, what have you thought of?"

Being the only one she could be talking to, he chose not to look up at her but addressed her anyways; "Huh?"

"No begging? No pleading? No crying, or wondering, no dead weight of surrender? You've been watching everything, trying to come up with a way to escape. It's adorable, really –it's usually the older ones that keep calm, get ready to flee."

Crispin hadn't even really realized that that was what he was doing, but gave no indicator of that. "I'm just fucking confused, lady. Our numbers got swept in one night, and somehow I'm the late one getting hand-picked. Did you really have to double back for two people?"

She shrugged. "When some of ours go missing or turn up toasted, we tend to get curious." She popped the door open, kicked Crispin inside, and stepped in after him. The musty old rug over water-damaged hardwood was all he could see until he rolled over to look around, and the interior decor was basic, save for one facet of it that was outside what he could have imagined.

There was a double-poster bed taking up a lot of room with absurd draperies, cushions and covers on it, surrounded by dressers and shelves. Mainly, though, were the crossed beams just shy of the ceiling, wearing a number of steel rings, one of which that had a guy chained to it by his wrists. His feet were a foot or two from touching the floor, and he was stark naked.

"... Nick?"

The hanging man was none other than the resident woodworker of the caravans, Nicholas Chromaly. With a chiseled jaw, deep-set brown eyes, and blue-gray hair tied up in the back, he'd been one of few lookers the girls in the troupe had come to eye constantly. The cuts and bruises in tender areas said that Saika had been more than just eyeing him. "Ah... Hi, Crispin. I was hoping you made it out, but..."

Crispin would have replied if not for his head being tugged again, Saika lifting him to his feet and then higher, getting a brand new pair of thick cuffs and a chain going to the right of Nick for Crispin to fill. The ropes came off only once he was securely fastened to the beams, though those on his ankles stayed for now. All that was missing was a label from Santa Claus and a red bow.

She stepped past them by a small margin to toss the rest of Crispin's belongings onto the floor, and upon her return she took Crispin's knife out of the sheath. "Oh, you won't be needing these." With careful precision but dextrous skill she began slashing Crispin's clothes apart, the layers falling away, and with some careful work she removed the underlayers, too. He was scratched by her first few strikes, but her intent hadn't been to hurt him –at least, not yet. The knife was set back down atop the dresser. "Now that I have you here, too many toys can get troublesome. So much talking... How about I show you what you get to look forward to?"

Nick grimaced as Saika circled him, setting Crispin's knife down on the dresser behind them. She popped open the many drawers, and they all collapsed a bit downward to make more of a walled rack, which she rolled over to them on wheels under the legs of the furniture -quite an elaborate setup. Crispin began to sweat when he saw tools lined up on the object; long picks, scissors, plyers, a roll of barbed wire... she had all manner of devices, not a one of which looked friendly. Nick's breathing slowed as he forced himself to calm, even as she took a three-piece shackle of some kind and kneeled beside him. Turns out it was a brace, the shackles locking over his thigh, foreleg, and foot; the bars that were keeping each ring attached to one another snapped in place to prevent his leg from flexing. After making certain his left leg couldn't move, she lifted it and propped the limb to face out from Nick on another rolling dresser, and she withdrew one of her other devices; it looked like an absurdly long screw, with a sort of hand crank attached to the end. The crank mechanism kind of looked like an old-style egg-beater's.

Was that thing a humongous drill?

Nick's eyes widened to the size of saucers, and he started nervously joking as he broke into a much worse sweat than he'd already had. "W-whoa, lady, cuts and lashings were one thing –isn't that just a little overboard?"

She smiled, sickeningly sweet, as she circled him for the purpose of gagging him with a twisted cloth, tying it in the back as Nick mumbled further protests lost to the fabric. Crispin hadn't looked away from the extra-long crank-operated corkscrew. He'd gone white.

Back in front of Nick, she lifted the object and placed the tip against the heel of Nick's foot. He whimpered, and she started turning the crank, not piercing the skin yet –just rotating the tip against his foot. "Legs are funny things. Fragile for how much they support –just slashing the tendon above the ankle is enough to prevent someone from walking again. There are quite a few vital arteries in a leg, and the bones are a little thick. But what's so funny about all that? Well, I'll tell you; there's a little path you can take in between all that, aaaaaaaaaall the way up to the liver, digging through muscle tissue... minor blood vessels... cartilage. A liver puncture could kill in a matter of minutes, but stopping _just shy _of that will leave someone bleeding out for hours."

She rotated the crank faster. Nick hyperventilated through the cloth, and Crispin couldn't so much as blink. His teeth were chattering, and Nick looked to him with pleas in his eyes –they were both trapped, but he had no one else to beg.

Saika pushed. The point of the implement dug into the heel of his foot, and as she spun and shoved, red spattered her chest and chin. Like some kind of crazed hornet that just found purchase for a spot to sting, she grinned as the coiled metal encircled Nick's ankle, and began burrowing past the bones and veins on the climb up his body. Screaming through the rag at a high pitch, he bit the gag hard enough to tear his gums, pain-wracked sobs in between twists of the handle.

"_Fucking stop! Take that out of him you sick bitch!_" Crispin wriggled and swung loosely, but even coming within kicking range of Saika only caused her to let go with one hand for a second, moving him to swing on an entirely different angle and get tangled in his own cuffs. The flesh on Nick's leg engorged slightly in a spiral pattern, up to the thigh now, his voice already growing hoarse and beseeching. He couldn't get enough of a breath to roar his agony in long bouts –he'd degenerated to wheezing huffs of misery.

She lived for this. Her lips felt like they might split at the corners she drew such satisfaction from Nick's torture, wiping at the sweat on her brow smearing it crimson. Her chest rose and fell as fast as her victim's, exhilaration causing her to almost slip on her device. Crispin feebly swung his feet at her again, chanting for her to stop, stop, stop. She did, and peered up at him, the pure joy evident on her face. "Are you sure?"

Crispin shook his head, but only to emphasize the fact that that sounded like a stupid question. "Yes! Fuck yes, leave him the hell alone! Please, please just stop, just stop..." He trailed off, tears welling in his eyes. An off thought in his head wondered how much he'd cried lately, and how much he had left to.

She removed her hands from the drill, and Nick was still groaning in rhythm with his exhales. She held up her hands as if surrendering to the cruel and wicked tool itself. "Alright, you're the boss... You sure are a bit of a freak though, aren't you?"

"The hell're you- you're..." Again his voice fell short, as he looked down and realized. The thing was buried all the way up Nick's leg, if he had to guess ending somewhere like the hip –and just short of his liver. He would die to the wound regardless, but now it'd be a much slower death, like she'd explained. In his panic, outrage and terror, he'd condemned the man to hours more of this sensation.

Saika's mouth formed a vicious crescent as Crispin looked Nick in the eye, and both of them knew. They both resigned to that despair, and she cackled about it, grabbing Crispin's hair and shaking him with a jangle of the chain above his wrists. She crashed her lips into his, pressing up against the boy, still chuckling and biting down on his lower lip hard enough to split it before backing away, the adrenaline high still having her bounce around the room a little. He coughed, spat blood at her, and swung limply.

"Good _god, _I love it when they catch on fast! Oh, oh oh oh... can't forget Nick's final touch." She flounced back over to the man, and he instinctively recoiled as best he could from her, though it didn't help. She squatted next to his leg, and undid the clasps keeping the steel splint on his leg. With that gone...

The first muscle spasm, whether it be from the pain, the foreign object lodged into the limb, or just from being free at last, jolted Nick's leg into an attempt to flex. Breathlessly he gasped, the rapid-fire bellows through the gag coming back as more pain equaled more spasms, and he thrashed in throes of the chain reaction until finally he settled, eyes heavy-lidded and face soaked. His breath came in brief whispers, his body aiming for the bare minimum.

Crispin was staring at him, watching Nick lose most of his will to even perceive that there were others present. His apology held fast to the confines of his throat, refusing to brave the room to its recipient –he could only mouth the words on repeat. Saika walked over with her perpetual grin, untying Nick's head and letting the cloth fall from his face. He showed no change for it, just as dazed as he was before. "Well boys, it's been a wild ride. I hope you two can stay out of trouble while I clean myself up?" Crispin stared at her, cold and menacing. She swiped a thumb over the lip she bit and sucked the digit mockingly. "Oh, it's fine. You'll have your turn when you can't take the little things anymore, no need to look so jealous."

Saika blew them a kiss, and in a flash of blonde she blew out the door and slammed it shut behind her, the sound of a deadbolt sliding in place following after. Crispin grit his teeth, kicked the wall, and started struggling vainly until his dad-advice flickered through his mind as per usual, and much the same as before he felt the need to curse his parent but calm down anyways. Nick's presence grew small with no motion, no sound until another spasm. He yelped, trying to prevent himself from moving further over it with a low, guttural groan and lowering his head.

Crispin looked around the room. His sight was drawn back to the leg any time he tried to see past or sweep his vision elsewhere in the room, but he fought down the strange fixation while he searched for his things, as well as sought out any means with which he could get down. The other tools were in assorted drawers he couldn't reach even if he swung, his knife was atop one of these, and his crossbow had been confiscated, likely lent back to another Cloak. His fishing line, supplies and cloak of his own were strewn about on the floor where Saika had tossed the sack of his goods. He tried flipping upside-down, perhaps getting his feet up against the bottom of the support beam and kicking off to pull his wrists free. There would be dislocation of wrists, maybe shoulders, and it might not even work, but to his dismay the cuffs had been made so tight that even hurting himself along the way wouldn't slide his hands free.

He sighed, nothing left that he could cook up to get out of here. He'd have to wait for an opportunity, or some rearranging Saika might do upon her return... but who could say if she'd grow impatient? She seemed unstable enough when she'd been destroying Nick here, there was a distinct possibility that she'd feel like early seconds when she came back –and Nick was all wiped out by the look of him. It wouldn't be nearly as 'fun' for her as it had been the first time, probably.

Crispin and Nick had been on a smile-and-wave basis. No like or dislike, no grudges or friendships, just a mild notice of one another's existences and carrying on the day. They'd shared little in terms of conversation, and it wasn't as if he'd needed to collect the guy any trees even if he could drag one home. But he hadn't needed to suffer like this. No one did... could they have been friends at one point? If Crispin hadn't had his head so far up his ass, worrying about his daddy issues and blaming the Culversetts for his shoehorned role as a Woodsman, would they have maybe seen eye to eye? They should've talked before now. Their ages weren't even too far apart-

A twitch of the leg brought Crispin out of his reverie as Nick groaned, eyes squeezing shut. His gaze was drawn back to the leg. The screw-like implement had been metallic... and absurdly long.

'_No, no. I can't... I won't... would that even –don't THINK like that!_' Crispin internally debated, and flinched when it sounded like the door rattled. Saika was confident they couldn't get out, and that confidence was likely to wane the longer he had to himself with which to inspect the place. To make a getaway now was his best chance, most likely, since there was no way she'd think he could do something about this situation so fast. He looked down at Nick's leg. He swallowed hard in preparation.

"Nick." He mumbled. "Nick, listen. You in there buddy?" Crispin's voice rose slightly, as did Nick's head. Crispin continued, "Nick... you're gonna die."

The carpenter lifted his head with a defiant, crazed look behind his similarly worn but angered expression. "Don't you think I know?!... Look what she did to my _leg, _man! Look at what she _fucking did! _My... Oh god, Crispin, my... fucking leg..."

Crispin swayed lightly. "Nick, Nick, I know. I saw it. I didn't much help... Nick, I need you to listen... You're gonna die. But I need your help first."

"What are you saying?" Nick glared. He got that tired look again, color draining onto the floor. Crispin clinked as he wiggled, trying to get Nick's attention back. He opened his eyes again, and mumbled. "... I'm tired, Crispy."

"I know."

"It hurts." Tears welled up again, and Nick spasmed as if to give an example. He clenched his teeth. "It hurts so much."

"Nick, I need you to bend your leg." They stared at one another in dead silence.

"Are you shitting me?"

Crispin shook his head, face sour. "I need the screw thingy. I need it out of your leg, Nick."

"_Do you know how much this hurts?!_"

"I _WILL!_ I'll know soon enough if you don't help me!" The argument fell short already. Crispin sighed, and began swinging intentionally, toward the leg. "I'm getting out of here, Nick."

His fellow man looked up from his near-comatose state, losing so much blood, and life returned to him with fear. "Crispin, no, please don't-"

Crispin wound up and planted his feet squarely into Nick's calf.

The wails of pain started up again, and Crispin kept swinging. "Bend your leg!"

"No!" Nick's fists clenched above him, same as Crispin's, as he took another kick and aimed his cries at the ceiling. Crispin's determination waned, but he forced it back up and swung harder. "Crispin, I can't!"

He kicked again, and Nick's calf tore a little. A glint of silver peeked out near the underside of his knee joint, the sinew and skin newly torn and giving the blood another way to flow. "Nick ,you won't be able to in a few hours anyway. I need that thing! _Bend your goddamn leg!_"

"Crispy, NO!" Nick cried. The next kick tore the breach under his knee wider. His weeping grew hysterical as his leg jittered uncontrollably, and with Crispin's next kick, Nick's leg contracted, driving the tip far enough to pierce his liver but separating the vast majority of the shaft from his leg in the process of his knee pulling upward. There was about an inch curled into his torso, and a fraction still through the meat of his heel, but the rest of the shaft was out of the ragged crevasse beneath his leg. He rocked wildly in a fit of this unimaginable feeling, and on Crispin's next swing he reached out and caught the rose-tinted polearm of sorts between his feet. His momentum going back the way it came helped him separate the object from Nick's foot, and the end required an extra tug.

Nick wouldn't shut up, and Crispin's head was spinning, his stomach churning. He held his lunch down, his head up, and his feet together as he curled upwards, trying to angle the end of the crank drill so that he could either get it into the cuff's actual links or between the links and the beam. He missed a dozen times, fumbled, dropped the drill and almost lost it down there. Nick quieted down, and he chose not to question why.

Holding himself aloft in a J-shape and attempting to use an oversized screw as a crowbar with just his feet was proving to be even more difficult than his brain had originally made the plan sound. It took him at least twenty minutes –which he thought rather accurately to be miraculous –to get the end into the middle link of the cuffs, taking a moment to spin the thing between the arches of his feet to skewer the hold further. Now, to wrap his legs around the thing, and use his lower body weight to drop-and-yank at the tool until these break. It took two lifts of his body and dropping his weight on the crank end of the thing to snap the link, falling to the floor and slipping for a solid ten seconds in a pool of Nick's life fluid. He fought back the urge to throw up yet again, managing only once he got to all fours.

Crispin stood, shakily, and turned around to see Nick. His eyes were wide open, face in a perpetual roar of silence, and just as soon Crispin turned away to gather up his belongings. There was no time to waste, none.

His clothes were the issue. Crispin tore through Saika's dressers, dropping 'toys' in search of something to wear and only finding such a thing in the smallest one. They were a plain white flannel shirt, a vest, and slacks. They were Nick's. He grimaced strongly enough to etch stress lines into his face, but grabbed the clothes anyway, cutting them with his knife to rid himself of excess sleeve and pantleg length. The ropes that had tied his feet before were a belt for now, and he retrieved his cloak with almost as much disdain as the dead acquaintance's duds. Among the other implements for bringing people pain, there were some dentist-like pointed and crooked picks that Crispin pocketed all three of, as well as a small butcher's cleaver. He took the larger pair of scissors, the plyers, and the barbed wire for good measure –keeping it in a separate pouch, to avoid pricking himself or tangling it with the retrieved fishing line. The torture screw was left on the floor, and the whips and other spiky bits weren't anything he could get great use out of, crude as these weapons he was taking already were.

He was a little confused, though. If Saika had just been rinsing off the blood, she should've been back well before now... not that he was complaining. The door, however, was locked from the outside –she did certainly have one hell of a failsafe. The rest of the caravan was windowless, the creases in the boards of the floor, walls and ceiling too tough to pry at with meagre means. He searched around to see if there were any hidden means of escape, not turning anything up, and draped a pillowcase over Nick's head while he was at it. With little other option, he jumped off the bed, grabbing the support beam above and lying prone between it and the ceiling, right next to the door leading into the caravan.

It was here that he once again played the waiting game.


End file.
